Saving the Fox XI: Interregnum
by Therrae
Summary: Without the alcalde, life in Los Angeles should have been quiet and uncomplicated. It didn't work out that way, though.
1. August 1, 1815

_Standard declaration of non-ownership and profitlessness. _

_Everybody who has been waiting for about 9 months for this: I'm sorry. It came slowly, and it still isn't finished._

**August 1, 1815**

The first hour (when Don Alejandro stormed from room to room alternating outrage and threats) had been pretty bad. When he paused in the library for a long, hard look at Diego and then stalked out of the house, it got much worse. In the echoes of the slamming door the twins exchanged a panicked look and Gilberto jumped to his feet and raced after his father.

Diego attempted to give Felipe and Sir Edmond a reassuring look. "Father won't do anything rash," he murmured.

Gilberto was back in a few moments, not running this time. "He's outside chopping wood," he said.

"Is now the moment to be handling an ax?" Diego asked doubtfully.

Gilberto snorted. "Better an ax than a sword!"

Diego conceded the point with a sour face.

Sir Edmond sagged in the chair across from Diego. For the first time since Diego and Don Alejandro had returned from town and shared their news, he spoke. "Surely Alejandro understands that it is pointless to focus on this Palomarez person. It is the King who has betrayed his colonies. Even this far from Spain, I see little hope of – " He broke off and looked away for a moment. When he turned back, his face was firm with resolve. "No. No. By God, we will not go down without a fight!"

The twins gaped for a moment in astonishment, and then Gilberto raised his hands in protest. "It may not be that bad," he began.

"Sir Edmond, it is entirely possible that the king is not involved in this at all. Likely even. Palomarez…. Zorro disgraced him, destroyed a very promising career. Here. In Los Angeles. This may only be personal vengeance."

Sir Edmond stared at him, his rage not the least abated. "But why would – how? This kind of fraud, it could only be maintained for a few months – a year at best! What would be the point?"

Gilberto began to pace thoughtfully. "Extortion? He can't mean to run all these plantations by himself. For a certain monetary consideration…." He shrugged.

Diego whispered, "He may mean to destroy us. To bring us into revolt so that the army has cause to take his revenge for him."

Gilberto snorted. "I'm sure that would be satisfying, but dancing on the graves of your enemies won't provide for a luxurious retirement."

Diego looked about to argue, but Sir Edmond cut in. "The motive is less important than the method – if you are correct. Who is helping him? Is this a conspiracy within the palace?"

Gilberto considered. "He is famous enough to have powerful friends…."

"Don't overcomplicate it," Diego said. "He didn't have very much time, if you consider how long it would take to reach Spain. And the more people involved, the more opportunity for disaster. Whatever his plan is, it must be simple – and probably very quick."

Gilberto nodded and headed for the door.

"Don't bother him now," Diego protested.

Gilberto paused and said over his shoulder, "Father will be much less angry if he thinks of this as a fraud rather than a betrayal of the colony. And if we're to get any help from the actual authorities we'll need his voice."

Sir Edmond looked after him for a moment and then clumsily signed "fox?" to Diego.

"Killing Palomarez might bring problems of its own," Diego answered. "And he is a very good swordsman" Meaning it might not be possible to stop him without killing him. "He is disgraced, but he might be…missed. Then, too, his guards are armed and not afraid of Zorro…."

Felipe, unable to sit still any more, strayed to the window and then back to the fireplace. The weeks since Luis Ramone had died had been so peaceful, so reasonable. Except for one foray in pursuit of cattle rustlers, Zorro only rode out to exercise Toronado. There had been no nights dozing by the lamp in the cave, waiting up for Gilberto. There had been no rips to repair in Zorro's clothing. There had been no lies to tell Don Alejandro. Diego had traveled freely between the hacienda and the town without the inconvenience of an armed escort.

The town itself was more pleasant than Felipe could really remember. Mendoza was running the garrison fairly and keeping discipline. The little town council – ignored and powerless under Ramone – had set about sorting out the mandatory taxes and making a plan for collection. Things had been so quiet and so good. There had been time for lessons and fishing and picnics after church.

It had been wonderful, and now Palomarez had come to ruin it. He was a monster who had frightened even Ramone. Zorro had barely managed to drive him off last time.

Felipe's hands were hot and damp. He wiped them on his shirt. Zorro _had_ handled Palomarez before. He had beaten him. Whatever his plan was – however evil – Diego was smarter.

Gilberto came back with Don Alejandro, who was much calmer now. He laid an absent hand on Felipe's shoulder and smiled thinly at Sir Edmond. "So," he said. "Gilberto has pointed out that it is time to start thinking."

Sir Edmond smiled back. "In principle, I am not opposed. But I confess, I can't see where to start. How many armed men did he bring with him?"

"Ten," Diego said immediately. "Resistance is _possible_, assuming our own garrison doesn't support them." He glanced at Gilberto. "I hate to think of the casualties, though."

Don Alejandro shook his head. "No," he said. "Gilberto is right. This is some kind of scheme, some fraud. We need to get word of this out..."

"To whom?" Sir Edmond returned doubtfully. "The governor? "

"Yes, the governor. And the presidios. And the magistrates. I know you don't think very much of the authorities, but they won't stand by for this."

Gilberto shook his head. "His ultimatum is two days, Father. That isn't time for anyone to come help us."

"No. I suppose we'll have to slow him - "

He was interrupted by a thunderous knock at the door.

In the startled, anxious silence that followed, Diego started to rise. His father waved him back down while turning to Sir Edmond. "No one touches a weapon," he hissed. "Whatever this is, if they come in armed we give them no excuse."

The knock came again. Alejandro ignored it. "Do you understand, Edmond? There are children in the house, women in the kitchen. Their lives are nothing to him."

Maria was opening the door.

Edmond nodded.

Palomarez was not especially tall, but his boots clicked loudly against the tile floor. His uniform was spotless and imposing compared to the faded and patched jackets of the local lancers. Flanked by four guards in sharp, white uniforms, he announced that he was claiming the hacienda for his residence immediately.

Felipe winced inwardly, bracing for the outrage that was sure to greet that, but Don Alejandro stood very still for a moment, carefully looked Palomarez up and down, and answered, "I suppose it would be counterproductive to refuse, since you'll only be imposing on us for a few days."

Palomarez gloated. "There is no point in deluding yourself. I own this rancho. I own everything between San Gabriel and San Juan, in fact." He smiled, making a show of looking around. "Very nice it is, too." His deep, cold voice made the hairs stand up on Felipe's arms.

Then Don Alejandro smiled. It wasn't his usual smile. It put Felipe in mind of The Fox. "The rancho_ is_ very nice," he agreed. "This part of California is very valuable; the fields, the pastures, the orchards…. Except it has no value at all, with no one to harvest the crops and tend the cattle. You say you have the land, but just the land?" He shrugged. "That isn't where the value is."

"Do you think the peons care whom they work for? You flatter yourself if you think they are loyal to you."

Unruffled, Don Alejandro shook his head. "I am not the issue. You, though….not so long ago you were choosing citizens by lot to execute as a ploy to capture Zorro. Cruel? Yes, I think everyone noticed. And then when Zorro arrived, you broke your bargain with him, so also untrustworthy. And now you show up with a document you claim comes from the king? You'll have an uprising on your hands. Hundreds of people will take up arms against you."

"Then we'll have hundreds of executions!" Palomarez growled.

"Afterwards you can use your land to bury the dead. It won't have any other use, with no one to work it." Don Alejandro smiled again. "Can I assume you will give us a few minutes to pack? Or are you casting us into the street with only the clothing on our backs?"

He started to turn away, but Palomarez took a step toward him. "Suppose. . . Suppose you are right. What…alternative do you suggest?"

Don Alejandro shrugged. "You might start by letting an impartial judge look over that document."

Palomarez waved a hand. "There is no one qualified. The magistrate is in San Francisco right now."

Softly, Diego said, "_Impartial_ only means someone with nothing at stake – someone who neither owns land nor pays rent."

Palomarez stiffened. "I don't have to prove anything to anyone."

"As you wish," Don Alejandro said, turning away from him. "Felipe, you will pack for yourself and Diego. Gilberto I will have to ask you to pack for me. I must have a word with Juan and Maria – "

Scowling, Palomarez stepped in front of him. "Whom did you have in mind?"

**Edmond**

All the way to town he was thinking strategically. The third time he found himself evaluating a vantage point for an ambush he paused. Striking from cover with a musket was hardly like him. Edmond had always taken the direct approach.

Not that he was shying away from this burst of desperate ruthlessness. He had already lost Uri and twenty-three of their students to corruption and despotism. He would not see Alejandro de le Vega and his sons go the same way. He would not see this beautiful village destroyed.

"_Edmond_? Are you all right?"

"Yes?" he said absently, still considering the upper story of the inn. How good a view did it command of the plaza? He shook himself and climbed out of the wagon. "Sorry. I was woolgathering."

"Victoria has three rooms open. If we leave the boys the largest room, you and I can have privacy in each of the smaller rooms."

"Yes, that's fine…." Edmond's eyes strayed around the square.

"I need to go have a word with Mendoza - "

Gilberto caught his father's arm and lowered his head to say softly. "Let Diego speak to Mendoza, Father. You need to get busy writing letters."

Alejandro hesitated for a moment and then nodded. He motioned Edmond to follow him, and they wasted no time setting up at the small table in what was to be Alejandro's room. Two de le Vega cowboys would be waiting to take the letters north and south as soon as they were finished. For whatever good they might do.

Would the help Alejandro was asking for come? Edmond doubted it would. One disaster and outrage after another was repeatedly ignored by the government. If they bothered to send anyone at all, incompetence and sloppiness was the best that could be hoped for.

Of course, given the distances and the state of the roads, even if able help were likely it would not arrive in time.

His feelings must have shown. After Alejandro had laid out his seal and set the wax to melt, he reached across and laid his hand on Edmond's arm. "It isn't as bad as you think. The boys are right, I'm sure. This is some kind of fraud. Whatever profit Palomarez means to make from it must be done quickly. We need only hold him off for a few days. Tomorrow everyone will spend all day arguing over his document. The day after is Sunday, so nothing will be done. On Monday…." He shrugged. "We know the tavern keeper. Perhaps we can arrange to have at least the local lancers drunk off their feet. We'll think of something. Hmm. And somewhere in there Zorro is sure to show up."

Edmond would have found that reassuring if the twins had been more confident.

They sent the letters on their way and went to the tavern's main room for an early supper. The place was already crowded with caballeros, small farmers, and peons. Diego and Gilberto were – separately – trying to convince groups of young men not to storm the de le Vega hacienda and kill Palomarez outright. Predictably, Gilberto was sitting among men with suits and swords and Diego was speaking to cowboys and farmers.

Alejandro ordered food for everyone and turned the clusters of anxious conversation into a single meeting. What he said was not nearly as important as his utter calm while he said it. Most of the men seemed relieved at an excuse not to panic just yet.

Then Victoria and Pilar started bringing out food, and that seemed to settle things down even more. Two or three of the caballeros continued to pester Alejandro, but their 'disagreement' was never clearly explained. They wanted quick action, but wouldn't give a sound reason why. Alejandro smiled at them kindly and refused to be provoked.

He urged as many people home as he could, but with distances being what they were, of course, many would be sleeping in town. All the rooms upstairs were full, and the rooming house as well. Alejandro gave permission for half a dozen people to camp out in the unfinished new house.

When, finally, Miss Victoria had shooed the last stragglers out and barred the door, she motioned Edmond and Alejandro to follow her into the kitchen.

She poured them fresh wine – not from the pitcher she had been watering – and asked, "How bad is it really, Don Alejandro?"

He glared down at his wineglass and set it off to the side untouched. "If this new land grant is genuine, I'll burn the hacienda to the ground and salt the fields before I give it to him," he growled.

Miss Victoria blinked in astonishment. Alejandro had showed no trace of anger all evening, and how he was nearly white with rage.

"So… no hope of appeal then? To the king?" she asked.

"Oh, appeal won't be necessary. It _isn't_ real. The king would hardly 'reward' Palomarez for being humiliated by Zorro by handing him forty miles of the richest land in Upper California."

"So there is nothing really to be worried about. It will all get sorted out."

"There is a great deal to be worried about," Edmond said. "Those elite soldiers who came with him might believe the grant is genuine. Bullets will kill as easily for a lie as for the truth."

"Time is our best ally," Alejandro said. "The longer this goes on, the more absurd the idea will become. And the more likely it will be that we will get help."

Edmond took a sip of his wine and sat on one of the kitchen stools. "You both know this scoundrel," he said thoughtfully. "Can he be convinced to … take offense?"

"A duel?" Alejandro asked. "Don't think it! He's twenty years younger than you are with better reach and no scruples."

Miss Victoria shook her head apologetically. "Zorro barely beat him last time."

Stung, he retorted, "On a good day, I can still match your Zorro."

They looked at Edmond uncertainly. He remembered belatedly that Zorro was a legend to them. It was pure vanity for mere humans to compare themselves to him. Alejandro was already making conciliatory motions and opening his mouth to humor him.

"Oh, please! I am Edmond Kendall. I have never been defeated in an adjudicated competition. Do you think Zorro hasn't sought me out to play?"

Miss Victoria grinned, Palomarez momentarily forgotten. "Really? How was it?"

Though this was hardly the time to indulge his rush of pride at the thought of Gilberto's skill, Edmond smiled. "Brilliant. Sublime. In all my life, I have only known one who could match him…." He wished he could share this moment and add that both of them were Alejandro's sons.

"There is the possibility that this is only a ploy to capture Zorro and restore Palomarez' reputation," Alejandro said. "That is something else to consider. If Palomarez were to get lucky…he must not be allowed to ride out of California with a prisoner."

Victoria nodded. "Perhaps there are some people I can…talk to…."

"He is an outlaw," Alejandro said, giving her a hard look. "No one must be caught helping him. Even assuming he would ever need it."

Victoria's eyes widened. "Oh! Do you suppose the plan is to be extortion, then? The land grant traded for Zorro?"

"What a thought," Alejandro said throwing up his hands. "Ugh. Don't repeat it. There are a few that would gladly go along with a deal like that."

She scowled. "Emilio Pascal, for one."

"That man who kept going on at you tonight?" Edmond asked. "Bit hotheaded. Why in the world was he in such a hurry to die?"

"Oh, it's not that," Alejandro said. "He is afraid that if this goes on too long Palomarez will subvert the peons and start an uprising on his behalf."

"On behalf of the madman who attempted random public hangings?"

Miss Victoria rolled her eyes. "You can imagine how he treats his renters and servants and cowboys, if Palomarez might look attractive in comparison! Not everyone is as fair as Don Alejandro."

"At least…if Palomarez is making an effort not to offend the poor he won't treat my people badly…." Alejandro said. "I told them to turn out the stock and abandon the place if he so much as even threatened violence to any of them."

Miss Victoria patted his arm. "They'll be all right, then. Juan and Maria are very sensible."

Alejandro nodded, but his worries were clearly not alleviated. It was a long moment before he took a deep breath and asked, "Edmond, did you see when the boys retired….?"

"An hour or so ago. Diego looked well enough. I wouldn't worry."

"They'll be asleep by now. I won't bother them."

**Felipe **

Gilberto firmly shut the door and then leaned against it. Diego sank down onto the larger bed and rested his elbows on his knees. Felipe looked from one to the other, waiting. When, after several long moments, nothing happened, he clapped his hands. "What now?" he asked when they looked up.

"We're thinking," Diego said irritably.

Gilberto smirked slightly. "I'm waiting for _him_ to think of something."

Diego gestured horns at his brother. Gilberto only smiled thinly at the profanity. "We need more information, Little Brother."

"I know it."

"I'd like to get a better look at the thing. It _must_ be a forgery, no matter how convincing it looked."

"Try not to enjoy it too much, eh?" Diego said a little sourly. "Well, at least we've got a room with a side window. That will make getting in and out of here easier."

"I want to go too," Felipe said quickly.

"No," Diego said at once.

"Just as far as the cave. Someone has to take care of the horse. Please."

"Not out the window," Gilberto said firmly. "Head for the privy out back and loop around."

"You can't intend to take him," Diego protested.

"Only as far as the cave. He'll be fine. Don't scowl like that. We'll be back in three or four hours. There'll even be time to sleep."

They left Viking and Sunshine in the ravine outside and crept down the passage to the dark cave. It took a few moments to get a lamp lit. As soon as there was light, Felipe set about fussing over Toronado while Gilberto began to change.

Felipe put down the water bucket long enough to protest. "You aren't supposed to fight."

"I don't intend to. Killing him outright would be a disaster for us if he still has powerful friends in Spain. But black clothing will be less noticeable if I have to creep around and listen at windows."

Felipe rolled his eyes and went back to watering Toronado

As it turned out, it wasn't necessary to do any creeping. Palomarez was entertaining in the library. Gilberto settled in at the spyhole to watch, smirking. When Felipe finished currying Toronado he crept up to join him. It was hard to stand quietly, waiting. Gilberto wouldn't share the peephole and whatever conversation he was following was too quiet for Felipe to hear.

Suddenly, Gilberto flinched and drew slightly back. He pressed one hand to his mouth and leaned closer to the tiny spot of light from the library. Felipe couldn't tell if he was holding in laughter or rage, and with Gilberto's attention on the outer room, there was no way to ask.

At last Gilberto stepped back, shaking his head in bemusement.

"_Well_?" Felipe prodded him.

"He's trying to sell our pueblo to the British."

Felipe thought that through twice. It didn't make any more sense the extra time. "What?"

"Yes, I know."

"But that is treason! He is a war hero!"

Gilberto nodded. "True."

"But it's _stupid_!"

"No-ooo, not really," Gilberto said, fitting the black mask over his face. "This way he gets paid and slips away before word gets back to Madrid or someone figures out his land grant is a forgery."

"But what would the English _do_ with it?"

Gilberto paused, wincing. "The English might be able to hold it, if they had an army waiting somewhere nearby. Especially with rebellion in Mexico eating up so many imperial resources."

Felipe's hands went slack. Invasion? There was no thought so terrible.

Gilberto clouted him on the shoulder. "I doubt they're close. And even if they are, they won't be able to get a foothold if the local people resist him from the beginning. Stop worrying."

_Stop worrying._ Felipe rolled his eyes.

"Hand me my hat. He's left the documents behind. I want a look."

So Felipe handed over the black hat and watched Gilberto check his sword and his sash and slip through the secret door.

He spent an hour at the table, carefully crawling over the long page. All the lamps were lit and he had the magnifying glass. For a little while, Felipe had tried looking too, but as far as he could tell, the land grant was some paper with convoluted sentences on it. What else would a government document look like? It hardly seemed like this boring thing held all their lives and livelihoods in the balance….

Gilberto, though, seemed to find it absolutely riveting. He stared and stared, going over it an inch at a time. Sometimes he smiled. Sometimes he held the sheet up to the light. Sometimes he smirked.

Resigned to a long evening, Felipe settled himself on one of the work stools and rested his head on his folded arms. He almost wished he had stayed behind with Diego.

Felipe didn't realize his eyes had drifted closed until Gilberto' voice made them snap open in surprise. "Well, the signature is magnificent. The king himself would be deceived."

Felipe sat up and nudged him anxiously. Was it real?

Gilberto seemed almost surprised by the question. "Of course not. And it's easily enough proven. This is going to come to a very quick end tomorrow."

Felipe pointed to the lamp. "Quicker to just burn it now."

"We could. It's true that it isn't a crime to destroy a false document. But Palomarez might just press his point anyway. This is better, really. We _have_ him, Felipe. Trust me." Smiling, he again checked his hat and his sword, lightly climbed the stairs and slipped out the hidden door.

Yawning, Felipe flicked open the spyhole and peered out. Zorro was across the room bent over the decorative table. Suddenly, he stiffened. Even has he turned he was reaching for his sword, but both movements stuttered as he flinched away from something.

Felipe pressed closer, trying to broaden his line of sight, but he couldn't see –

And then he could: Palomarez strode forward, grinning.

Zorro, his sword finally in his hand, stepped back once and then again.

Felipe's belly twisted into a hard, frightened knot.

Palomarez had his sword casually in one hand. He brandished some small object in the other. His voice, flat and loud, shattered the silence and made Felipe jump. "You have been poisoned," he said.

_Poisoned_. Felipe's breath caught in his throat.

Gilberto took a step to the side. Felipe could see his face now. Under the mask there seemed to be no expression at all.

"Oh, it's a very small cut, but that's all it needs. You'll be dead within a day."

Suddenly Zorro's sword flashed out. Something flew through the air to land neatly in his hand. And then, almost too fast to follow, Zorro was gone, diving into the shadows.

"You're a dead man!" Palomarez shouted after him.

The only answer was the sound of breaking glass.

Felipe's hands were shaking so hard, it was all he could do to close the spyhole.

_Poisoned._ But they had dealt with poison before. Could this really be worse than a rattlesnake bite?

Of course it could.

Felipe pressed his face into his hands and tried to think.

The only idea he came up with before he heard the squeak of the pulleys that protected the cave entrance was that they had to get to Diego. Or, if the poison was already starting to work, he had to get Diego here.

The knot in his belly eased a bit when he saw that Zorro's gait was swift and even as he stormed out of the tunnel. He flung his hat and mask across the room and slammed a small, brown bottle onto the worktable.

Hesitantly, Felipe reached for him.

Gilberto pulled away. "You saw, I suppose?"

"Where were you hit?" Felipe asked.

For an answer, Gilberto peeled out of the black blouse and tossed it onto a chair. There was a scratch on his shoulder, less than two inches long. It was already red and puffy-looking.

He was looking at death in that tiny wound. Again, for a moment, Felipe was too frozen inside to breathe. But doing nothing was the most frightening thing of all, so with shaking hands, he commanded Gilberto to sit and grabbed the water pitcher. Unsteadily, he scraped the work knife across the shallow wound and sluiced it repeatedly with water. When the pitcher was empty, he moved to take Toronado's water bucket, but Gilberto caught him by the arm. "Stop," he said.

"In the blood?" Felipe asked, his heart sinking.

"It…burns. A little. I feel hot."

Felipe squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"It's not bad," Gilberto said quickly "We have a little time." He lifted the bottle, unstopped it, and sniffed.

"What is it?" Felipe asked.

"I have no idea."

"Diego?"

Gilberto took a deep breath and managed a thin smile. "Diego. He may be able to figure something out. He _will_ figure something out."

Felipe's hands twisted together.

"Hand me my clothes. I can't ride into town like this."

"_Can_ you ride?"

Gilberto patted his shoulder. "We have a little time," he said again. "We will think of something."

**Diego **

The lamp flared and steadied to a piercing brightness. Stiffly, Diego pushed himself up and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. Felipe was fussing with the light at the little table between the beds. Gilberto was sitting on the small bed they had intended for Felipe.

Squinting and thick-headed with sleep, Diego swung his legs over the side. The floor was cold against his bare feet. "How did it go?"

"Not very well, actually."

Felipe spun toward him, his hands a frantic blur. "Hurt! He's hurt."

The chord of fear that struck cleared Diego's head with remarkable swiftness. "Who is what?" he asked.

Gilberto sighed. "There was a poisoned blade."

Diego stood up, ignoring a brief swell of dizziness. He patted Felipe on the shoulder and pulled over one of the straight-backed chairs so he could sit knee to knee with Gilberto. "Show me."

The cut was shallow – surely it had hardly bled – but that was no reassurance. It was swollen and red and very hot to the touch. Diego closed his eyes briefly, his teeth clinched together.

Gilberto handed him a small, brown bottle. The fluid inside was viscous and sour-smelling. Despite his rising panic, Diego managed to keep his voice even. "Tell me everything from the beginning."

As much as he wanted to, Diego didn't rush Gilberto along in his description of the forgery. There was fear and helplessness under the calm recitation. He needed Gilberto calm and steady, so he only nodded patiently as the story of the horrible evening unfolded. When Gilberto finished, Diego looked at the brown bottle in his hand. "A day," he said. "Plenty time. Far more than we'll need." He took a deep breath. "Tell me your symptoms."

"Nothing bad yet."

"'Berto, I need to know how this is progressing."

Gilberto flicked his fingers at the cut. "It hurts. It was a small burn at first. Now it feels like a hot poker." He shifted. "My shoulder aches down to my elbow. I feel hot all over."

Diego wished he knew what to make of that. He hardly knew anything about poisons. Still, he nodded as though Gilberto's suffering was no more than he expected and motioned him to lift his feet so he could start unfastening his shoes.

"What are you doing?" Gilbert asked.

"We're sharing that bed. You aren't' getting in with your shoes on. "

"I'm not getting in at all. I have to –"

"You have to rest. Right now, 'Berto, I need a little time to think. And you need to conserve your strength. We will surely need it later."

"I don't have time to rest! Diego…." Gilberto glanced away and swallowed hard.

"I promise you, Gilberto. I promise. You are not going to die. Not from this. But you must leave this to me for a little while."

Gilberto turned his face away from the light.

"Trust me. I will solve this."

"Of course you will," Gilberto whispered.

Felipe helped settle Gilberto in the bigger bed. Gilberto would not look at either of them, but Felipe had his anxious eyes on Diego. Both of them were relying on him….

Diego turned down the light and whispered to Felipe to lie down on the other bed and rest for a bit.

It was too dark to argue properly, but Felipe shook Diego's arm in protest.

"All right. If you want to do something now, go fetch Toronado and a set of Zorro's clothing."

Broadly, in the dimness, Felipe signed,Question?

"Hide them both in the church barn. It isn't ideal, but Father Benetiz and Carlito will hardly give us away."

Felipe looked at him in utter puzzlement for a long moment; perhaps that hadn't been the question he had been asking. Instead of trying to make his point again, however, Felipe nodded, squeezed Diego's shoulder, and climbed lightly out the window.

Diego scrubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath. _Dear God_, this was desperate. A day. They had a day, and it was Gilberto's life….

Diego went to the window and breathed the fresh air. Their problem? They did not know the poison, so they could only guess at how to treat it. A day was really very little time. Freedom of movement was limited, because town would be full of people. Gilberto would not be fit to ride as Zorro. Palomarez had a squad of elite soldiers with him.

This would be very discouraging, if Diego had time to be discouraged.

Their assets? Palomarez surely believed that Zorro was one man acting alone. Palomarez would have to pay attention to his absurdly complex plan to sell Los Angeles to the British (and Diego would have to give that more thought later). The populous would be against Palomarez and for Zorro. There was no alcalde anxious to make an arrest. They had the bottle of poison, but there was no way to analyze it in a matter of hours, no time to test different treatments –

Surely Palomarez had an antidote. He was too fond of his own skin to risk it in an accident….

For a long time Diego leaned against the window sill breathing the cool air and thinking. When Felipe returned, Diego sent him back out again to fetch a hollow reed from the creek. He turned up the light a little and set about cutting a pair of tiny, pointy fletches from a quill.


	2. August 2, 1815 (part 1)

_Thank you, everybody, for the lovely welcome back._

**August 2, 1815 (part 1) **

**Diego **

Felipe returned just as Diego was finishing two perfect, tiny darts. He leaned over Diego's shoulder and prodded one of them with a curious finger.

"'What is it?'" Diego asked wryly. "An idea I sincerely hope is clever." He sighed. "We'll need daylight to go any farther. Why don't you lie down for a while?"

Felipe hesitated. His eyes were large and unhappy. "I'm all right," he protested. "I can help."

Diego took a deep breath and forced himself to calm. The night had already seemed interminably long even though the seconds were sliding away so quickly. Gilberto was running out of time, and yet they must _wait_. "It's a few hours before dawn. If you lie down, I will lie down."

Felipe gave in to the manipulation and turned down the lamp. He lay on the little bed while Diego climbed in beside Gilberto. Diego rested his forehead next to Gilberto's good arm and closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep. The seconds crawled by. Diego forced himself to let them.

He forced himself not to imaging running Palomarez through. Anger had no place in this. Neither did vengeance. The only hope of saving Gilberto was in Palomarez's living mind.

The seconds ran into minutes. Perhaps he dozed a little….

Gilberto stirred unhappily. Diego turned over so he could see the window, still cruelly dark.

Gilberto groaned and shifted again. "Diego?" he whispered. "I think I'm going to be ill."

Diego reached back and patted Gilberto's shoulder. In fact, he would probably be very ill before this was over. Even with the antidote, there would be considerable suffering and there would be no guarantee that the poison wouldn't leave lasting damage –

And then Gilberto made a small, alarmed noise and Diego realized that that was not what he had meant by 'ill.' Cursing softly, Diego scrambled for the chamber pot. He was quick enough, barely, to brace Gilberto while he emptied his stomach.

When the spasms ended, Gilberto slumped against him. Felipe lifted away the chamber pot and came back with a cup of water from the pitcher on the dresser. Diego coaxed a couple of sips into Gilberto and mopped his face with a damp handkerchief. Gilberto was strangely passive.

"What can I do for you?" Diego murmured.

Gilberto's head shot up. Belatedly, Diego realized how often Gilberto had asked that question during the worst of Diego's long illness. Before he could try to take the words back or think of something reassuring, Gilberto smiled coldly. "Tell me you have a plan," he said.

Drawn in by the hope in his brother's eyes, Diego felt himself smiling back. "Oh, yes," he said. "I have a plan. Can you lie back and rest a bit? I think it is time for Felipe and me to get to work."

The birds, at last, were yelling out their warning of the coming dawn. Diego and Felipe retreated to the far end of the room for a quiet lesson on blow guns. Using a pillow with a tiny spot of ink for a target (Diego would think of some excuse when he paid for the pillow case later) Felipe practiced his aim.

By the time Diego heard the sounds of other guests rousing, Felipe had gotten quite good. Diego sent him down for fresh water and set about tidying himself and dressing. Very carefully, he checked his pulse and measured out his medicine. There could be no mistakes today.

Father knocked briskly and poked his head in. "Gilberto is still in bed?" he asked.

Diego joined him at the door and lowered his voice. "He had a difficult night. His stomach again." He shook his head sadly. "It hasn't been quite the same since that bout last spring."

"We can let him sleep a bit more. It's going to be a difficult day. What about you Diego?"

"I seem to be fine, Father. However…It might be best if I didn't observe the meeting. I expect it will be very …fraught. And you would worry if I were there."

"Fraught. Diego…do not worry about the outcome today. This is a delaying tactic, remember. Whatever Palomarez is up to, it _will_ be found out."

Smiling at that was hard. Gilberto had no luxury of time. "I am certain everything will be fine."

Only a few moments after Father left, Sir Edmund strode in without knocking. "Dyspepsia?" he asked, shutting the door behind him. "Bit thin, isn't it?"

Diego sighed. "It covered a rattlesnake bite."

Sir Edmund was staring at Gilberto. It was impossible to miss that something was very wrong. In the morning light he was noticeably pale and perspiring. Even in sleep he was frowning. "How badly is he hurt?"

"It's worse than an injury. The blade was poisoned. I have to get the antidote today."

"From Palomarez? Diego…." Sir Edmund glanced at Gilberto, restlessly sleeping, and Felipe, looking worriedly out the window. He seemed to find no answer in either of them. "Diego, you do not have it in you to convince a man you will gut him if he doesn't bend to your will."

"Gut him?" Diego went to the dresser and retrieved one of the darts from where they had hidden them. "You have a very low opinion of my creativity. Palomarez will be convinced of a worse death than that." Quickly, he outlined what he had in mind. "It must be 'Berto who speaks at the meeting and makes sure that the fraud is identified. You are English. It would complicate things too much for you to be noticed. Father Benitez will be too busy discouraging a riot. And I must already be outside, waiting with Toronodo." He laid a hand of Sir Edmund's arm. "Gilberto must speak, but I am counting on you to look after him. Felipe will be – either in the kitchen or upstairs to shoot him as soon as the fraud is clear.."

"Waiting outside with Toronado - As _Zorro_? No, Diego."

"Someone must follow him back to the house and find where he has hidden the antidote. That someone must be Zorro, not some accomplice who can be identified and targeted later."

"Diego — I am sorry, but surely you see that you don't have the strength for this."

Diego spun on him. "Who else do you suggest? You are too short and you cannot manage the voice: you have an accent. Or did you think I should send Felipe?"

"Diego," he said, visibly struggling to be reasonable. "It should not be you."

"It should not be me, it _must _not be him!" So far Diego had managed to keep his voice down, but he was clinching his jaw so tightly his teeth ached. He took a deep breath. "There is no one else. He has never failed me, and I will not fail him. If you do not care to help, I will manage without you."

"You know I will help."

"Excellent. For now, if you would be so good, go and keep Father company. Felipe - "

Felipe, until this point pretending not to notice the argument going on not two yards away from him, immediately jumped forward. "I will fetch some breakfast."

For a moment it was all Diego could do not to hug him. He smiled serenely instead. "Thank you. That would be kind. Perhaps some porridge? Something easy on his stomach. I must wake him, I suppose. It may take some time to get ready."

When he turned back to Sir Edmund they had both regained their poise. "Be careful, Diego. And whatever you must do, don't hesitate."

He waited until they had gone to turn back to the bed. Gilberto was already watching him. He was pale and glassy-eyed. "I don't like it," he muttered.

"I do." Diego smiled innocently. "I've only been waiting for an excuse, you know."

Gilberto made a face and struggled up, but once sitting he froze with his hands knotted franticly into the mattress. Diego had no trouble recognizing a dizzy spell. He sat down on the edge of the bed to wait it out with him. "It's not funny," Gilberto said at last. "You shouldn't do it."

"I'm sure in a year or two we'll have a good laugh at all this. When we're old, you can tell your grandchildren."

"Diego!"

"Well? Can you sit a horse? He caught you on your sword arm. Can you fight off-handed _and_ sick? It must be me."

"Damn," Gilberto muttered.

Diego had a hard time meeting his eyes. "I know. Believe me, I know. But you must also believe that _I will do this._ I will get the antidote and bring it back to you."

"I know. I know you will."

**Alejandro **

Gilberto came down while the tavern was being rearranged for the meeting. He was pale and sported huge circles under his eyes. Alejandro felt a stab of sympathy. It must have been a dreadful night. If the indisposition didn't pass, perhaps he would exchange rooms with Gilberto tonight so at least Felipe and Diego could be spared the misery.

"How are you feeling, Son?"

Gilberto shrugged one shoulder. "Wretched. But it will pass. How are we doing here?"

Alejandro glanced around. All but one of the tables had been set aside and the chairs had been arranged into rows. Now benches and extra chairs were being brought from all over town. This was going to be even more crowded than court. "The goal for today is making sure no one gets killed," he said a little bitterly. "With such modest goals we are almost assured of success."

Gilberto closed his eyes for a moment. "Have you spoken to Mendoza?"

"Yes. Some good news there. No matter what happens, our lancers will not fire on the colonists."

"That is something then."

Alejandro snorted. "I almost miss Ramone."

"Heaven forbid!" Gilberto muttered. "Ah. There is Father Benitez. I need to have a word with him. Excuse me."

Watching Gilberto's measured progress across the room, Alejandro felt a stab of anger. His son was ill, and he was being deprived of the comfort of enduring it in his own home. Palomarez, damn him. Alejandro didn't care what he was up to, he only wanted the man dead.

No doubt Gilberto felt the same way. Perhaps this indisposition was blessing after all; there was no chance Gilberto would confront Palomarez today.

Time, he needed time. Alejandro had spent too many years fighting wars in the king's name to take up arms against the government now. Oh, he didn't believe that Palomarez was truly here acting in the name of the king, but once the shooting started the details of who was in the right wouldn't matter. He had to find a way to keep things from getting out of hand until this could be sorted out.

The tavern was already starting to fill. In a situation so desperately fraught a bigger crowd was not necessarily better, but there was nothing to be done about that. Daniel Neilson was there, and Jose Macias; like so many others, they had nothing but their farms. Don Roberto came in, his shoulders stooped and his steps unsteady. Old. So old; he had been a friend of Alejandro's father and was the last of that generation. His holding in California was only part of his wealth but he was far too old to move on and begin again somewhere else. Looking at these people – friends, neighbors, so many of them vulnerable – Alejandro felt his hatred of Palomarez crystalize into an icy purpose.

Sebastian arrived. He glanced anxiously at Alejandro's face and drew him aside where he – obliquely, delicately - began to remind him of the virtues of discretion and forethought.

For nearly a minute Alejandro listened to the earnest little speech with growing irritation. Finally he cut in. "You misjudge me, Sebastian," he said softly. "I don't intend to quarrel with this bastard. Or challenge him. Or drag us into rebellion. I intend to see Palomarez destroyed. I'm not in a hurry. I will take my time and see it done right."

"Oh. Well. Good, then."

"Your faith in me is touching."

"All right, never mind that. What is your plan?"

"That's a bit nebulous, actually. Palaomarez – we don't know his game. At the moment the only thing that is clear is that he's in a hurry. So for now we slow him down. No answers today, Sebastian. No movement forward."

Sebastian smiled. "Confusion and stalemate? Easy enough, old friend."

Easy? Palomarez was arriving with his honor guard of Royal Brigadesmen. Their muskets and breastplates shone and their posture was ramrod straight. They looked very grand compared to the local lancers in their faded and mended uniforms. Mendoza, coming in, seemed nervous and embarrassed rather than commanding.

Most of the seats were full now, but Gilberto and Edmund had saved a place at the front. Gilberto was sitting very stiffly. It was apparent his indisposition had not lessened at all. Alejandro briefly pressed his shoulder as he sank into the seat beside him. Gilberto gave him a small smile.

Palomarez and Mendoza were positioned at opposite ends of a rectangular table with a wooden box between them. The crowd, packed together more tightly than court-day, stared at them uneasily. The last whispers died away.

Into the brittle silence, Palomarez drawled, "Perhaps we could get started….?"

Mendoza swallowed. "Yes. Let's get started." He seemed to realize that he was in charge and motioned awkwardly at the box. "Ah. Shall I?"

"I assume the first step would be to examine the document." Palomarez's politeness was a very thin veneer.

With an audible swallow, Mendoza stood up and read it: carefully and loudly and not very fast, stopping once for a word he did not recognize. Alejandro's hands curled into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palm. Really, it was harder than he thought it would be, not to stand up and put an end to Palomarez right then. But no. He meant to win this. He would see the man destroyed.

At last the interminable reading finished and Mendoza raised his eyes. "Well. So. This is a transfer of deed, granting complete control of the territory to Colonel Palomarez."

Standing by the kitchen, Victoria called, "Are you sure, Sargent? Is it the King's signature?"

Almost apologetically, he ducked his head. "It certainly looks like his signature. But I only have the one sample, on the garrison commission hanging in the cuertel." He brightened suddenly, in a way that was not completely disingenuous and strongly suggested that he had been paying attention to Alejandro's hints to drag things out. "Perhaps we need to examine several samples. Many people in the room have the king's signature on their own land grants…."

"And they will look nothing like the signature on _this_ document because they were not signed by the _same_ king," Palomarez snapped.

"Oh. That is a good point."

"For pity's sake, get on with it!"

Mendoza shuffled his feet. It was clear he was out of ideas.

Gilberto politely raised his hand. "If I may, Sergeant?" he said.

"You may _not_," Palomarez said.

Mendoza looked at him. "It seems to me I am in charge," he said.

Palomarez shut his mouth with an angry snap and subsided.

"You had something to say, Don Gilberto?" The prompting sounded almost like an apology.

Gilberto rose slowly and set his feet. "Could you hold the document up to the light please?"

Mendoza complied. "It still looks like the King's signature," he said.

Gilberto smiled thinly. "I daresay. Enrique Rodero is very good at his trade."

"Ah, who is Enrique Rodero?" Mendoza asked, glancing around.

"A famous forger and a counterfeiter who currently resides in a Brazilian Prison. By all accounts, he is magnificent."

Alejandro glanced at Palomarez. He made no movement, but his face was white with anger and his eyes had narrowed to slits. "There's absolutely no evidence of forgery here," he growled.

"Mendoza, would you check the watermark?"

"The…what?"

"Enough of this." Palomarez stood up. "Stop wasting time - "

Gilberto ignored him. "Every royal document bears the king's watermark. It is in the paper. Just hold it up to the light."

Frowning, Mendoza lifted the paper toward the window. "Like a shadow," he said.

Gilberto nodded patiently. "That's right. What does it say?"

Mendoza stared at it, frowned, and then stared at it again. "I'm sorry, I only read Spanish. This is in Portuguese."

The room was absolutely silent. Gilberto watched Mendoza patiently.

"Why would a royal document be written on Portuguese paper?" Mendoza asked with growing puzzlement.

"Brazilian paper," Gilberto corrected. "Portuguese is also the language of Brazil."

"I don't understand. How can a parchment from South America bear our king's signature?" Mendoza demanded.

"It can't Sergeant," Gilberto whispered, sinking heavily into his chair.

At once the room erupted into noise. There was as much anger as cheering, and the royal Brigadesmen began to look distinctly nervous. Alejandro glanced at Sir Edmund. He had his dagger in his hand.

And then the room stuttered to silence as Palomarez stalked forward, his sword sliding into his hand. "Enough!" he shouted. "This ploy will not succeed." He pointed the sword at Mendoza, who took a step backwards. "The document is genuine. You will accept it or - " He broke off frowning, one hand reaching up to his neck. His hand came away holding something small, and for a long moment he stared at it.

And then he sheathed his sword and dashed for the door.

Surprised – by _all_ of it, good God, Gilberto, where had that come from? Alejandro stood up slowly and stared after the retreating villian. Where was he going? Was he fleeing his crime? Should they chase him down and lock him up?

But the royal Brigade were drawing their swords. A couple went to the door to look – apparently in confusion – after their commander. Alejandro waved for quiet. Mendoza had to bellow before he got it. As soon as he could be heard, though, Alejandro turned to the soldiers in their pretty uniforms. "All right," he said. "Were you all in on the fraud? Are you accomplices?"

And of course, looking at the huge crowd of people, they denied it. Loudly. Nervously. Possibly honestly. That was fine with Alejandro. He didn't care what their role was as much as he cared to have them mounted and riding out of the territory as soon as possible. It didn't take much of a suggestion to bring them to that conclusion, too.

As Mendoza politely 'escorted' them back to the cuertel for their things, Alejandro only could look after them in bewilderment. Could the war truly be over before the battle had even begun? Was it really this simple?

He ran a hand through his hair and turned to Gilberto. "Well, Son. I have never seen anything like that." The room was growing loud again, and he had to raise his voice.

Gilberto looked up at him, smiling wearily. "I certainly hope that was a compliment, Father."

Alejandro found himself grinning. "It was – but I _never_ want to know where you learned so much about forgery."

"Father!" Gilberto protested innocently. Laughing, Alejandro clouted him on the shoulder and headed out to the tavern porch so he could watch the invaders leave with his own eyes.

**Diego **

Town was quiet. From his vantage point in the rectory garden, Diego had a view of most of the plaza and the road out of town. No one was sticking a nose outside the tavern. It must be quite a show in there. Diego wished he could see it. So much depended on that room. Gilberto and Felipe must carry out their parts. Father – God help him – must hold his temper. Palomarez – Diego could only hope he wasn't completely mad. He had armed men. He might order them to open fire on the crowd. He might take hostages.

Anything could go wrong.

Diego shifted into the shadow of the grape arbor and took a couple of deep breaths. It might be a long day. He had to stay calm and carefully hoard his strength. It would be so easy to spend it all right now on worry, but Diego had one part in this. Just one. He must not fail.

An uproar from the direction of the tavern: voices. Happy? Afraid? Only surprised? It did not sound like an incipient riot –

What if Gilberto angered Palomarez into retaliation? What if Felipe were somehow caught? Sir Edmund was there to protect them, and that was no small thing, but… It had not escaped Diego how much guilt and anger and fear Sir Edmund was carrying beneath his good manners and amusing stories. And he wasn't a young man anymore. Older, even, then Father –

Before he could finish that frightening thought, the tumult at the tavern abruptly stopped. Diego forced his fists to unclench and took a deep breath.

Voices again, not so loud this time, and more sporadic. The front door of the tavern flew open and Palomarez stormed out. Diego held very still, a darker shadow in the shade. He lost sight of Palomarez as he ran toward the cuertel, but only a moment later he heard hoof beats. According to plan, then. Diego's smile equal parts relief and fierce joy of the coming pursuit.

Palomarez galloped through town. Diego took a full, patient breath and braced himself to rise. Just a moment more….

And then it went wrong. Instead of turning toward the road, Palomarez headed southeast, cross country. Diego stared after the retreating figure for long seconds, but the course didn't vary. Diego's smile faded. What was this?

He looked back. A couple of the elite guardsmen and a group of farmers came onto the porch of the tavern. Their puzzlement mirrored Diego's.

There was no time to wonder. Diego slid backward and stood up. Keeping his head down – now was not the day for a Zorro sighting and a playful chase up and down the ravines with the local lancers – he retrieved Toronado from his hiding place behind the rectory and circled around to pick up the trail.

Palomarez was still moving southeast at a panicked pace. He must have hidden the antidote somewhere in the open country outside of town. Clever. It was a fair assumption that Zorro would look for it. In retrospect, it was too obvious to try to secret something like this among his personal luggage. _Well. He will lead me to it now._ Even at an easy canter, though, Toronado was fast. He kept trying to close on their quarry. It was all Diego could do to hold him back and keep Palomarez's dust a smudge in the distance. Toronado couldn't possibly be driven on by the same desperate urgency that burned in Diego, but he also didn't understand the need for discretion. Diego had to hold him back every step.

**Gilberto**

Gilberto saw his father's congratulatory pat coming, but he had lost his reflexes in the thick haze that was overtaking his mind. The brief contact exploded in a crashing wave of pain that stole his breath and greyed out his vision. For an endless moment he was lost in agony that seemed to boil his flesh all the way down to the bone.

When he was aware of the tavern again, Sir Edmond was holding him upright by a casual grip on his good arm. He was saying something, but Gilberto couldn't make sense of the words or even tell if they were Spanish or English.

Gilberto breathed through his clinched teeth, concentrating on keeping his stomach still. The pain faded slowly. Sir Edmund was still talking, a relaxed smile on his face. It occurred to Gilberto that he was carrying on a false conversation, a cover to conceal Gilberto's weakness.

A shadow passed over both of them. Gilberto looked up. The movement made the world tilt and spin.

Father Benitez loomed above them. Gilberto was unused to looking up at the little man. Father Benitez and Sir Edmund spoke above his head, neither of them addressing him. It was rude, unlike either of them. Gilberto could barely make out the words against the excited babble of voices. His mind would not focus, not even now that he was trying. Possibly this entire room full of people – the entire village – was celebrating Gilberto's own brilliance in outsmarting the villain, and with his usual luck, Gilberto was in no position to enjoy it….

Carefully, gently, the two old men heaved Gilberto to his feet. The movement hurt, but they didn't touch his bad arm, so it was endurable. Gratefully, he allowed himself to be led. The stairs, when he finally reached them, were a new ordeal. There seemed to be an endless number of steps and each push upward hurt like a spike through his shoulder and back. The pain nearly made him groan and did make him pant. The stinging breaths were cold on his throat, but everything else had grown warm, hot, stifling.

When they entered the room, Gilberto staggered to a halt and stood, swaying, his weight sagging down onto Sir Edmund's shoulder. Felipe, hovering by the window, turned and rushed toward them. His hands danced, graceful and urgent and completely indecipherable. Gilberto closed his eyes. He couldn't get them open again, or stop himself from falling.

_~TBC_


	3. August 2, 1815 (part 2)

**August 2, 1815 (part 2)**

**Felipe**

Don Alejandro's room overlooked the plaza. Felipe made it upstairs in time to plant himself at the window and wait for Palomarez to come galloping through town. He went the _wrong way_, though, and after a moment of surprise Felipe raced back to the room he shared with the twins and watched him light out across Senora Ortiz's pasture. Palomarez disappeared down the hill, but Felipe waited, and two or three minutes later a night-black horse and rider popped out of the scrub by the creek and cantered after him.

Sighing, Felipe fingered the hollow reed. So far, so good. The dart had hit its mark. Diego was in pursuit of Palomarez. He only had to get the antidote now. And not get himself killed.

The door opened and Gilberto limped in, leaning heavily on Sir Edmond. "Diego is after him," Felipe told them excitedly. "But they are not headed home! Where do you think they are going?"

Instead of answering, Gilberto's head lolled sideways and he fell against Sir Edmond. As strong as Sir Edmond was, Gilberto was huge, and his weight quickly bore him down. Father Benitez, hidden before this by Gilberto's height, snatched out to slow their descent from behind and Felipe hurried to brace from the front. Between the three of them, they managed to wrestle Gilberto to the bed.

Between them, they freed Gilberto of his jacket, belt, cravat and shoes and pushed him under the covers. He made no effort to help them. His clothing and hair were soaking with sweat. His breathing was shallow and unsteady. Felipe bit his lip and counted hours in his head. Should Gilberto be so sick so soon? Had he spent all his strength exposing Palomarez below? Had Palomarez been wrong about how much time there was?

Strong hands turned him around and shook him once. "Felipe," Father Benitez said firmly, "I need to know what happened. He only had a few minutes to explain downstairs."

Felipe freed himself and gently unbuttoned Gilberto's shirt and tugged the cloth aside to reveal the swollen scratch. "Poison," he said.

Father Benitez crossed himself. "So I see," he said sadly. He leaned down and smelled the wound. "Ah, child, what have you gotten into?"

"I don't suppose you can do…anything?" Sir Edmond asked.

"I have sent Carlito for my supplies." He pressed two fingers to Gilberto's exposed neck and frowned. "I can give him something for the pain. He is strong enough, still. He has a little time…. _Diego_ has gone for the cure?"

Felipe nodded unhappily.

"Of course he did! Pair of suicidal idiots, the both of them, God help us!"

"It isn't that bad," Sir Edmond said. "Diego is an excellent swordsman."

For just a moment the priest's eyes were flat and hard with anger. "And if he is pushed into a position to prove that, his heart may well kill him. " He glanced at Gilberto and lowered his voice. "You should have dissuaded them."

"Diego is not a child," Sir Edmond said sharply.

Felipe gaped. They were going to quarrel. They were both old and proud and used to getting their own way. And they were important men! There was nothing Felipe could do to stop them.

They didn't say anything else, though. Instead of charging each other like two bulls in a small paddock, they stood there, pointedly not criticizing. Oh. Old and proud - and not nearly as hotheaded as younger, stupider men would be.

Gilberto made a short, piteous sound. "Diego. Can do this," he whispered. "Smarter."

Briskly, Father Benitez lifted Gilberto's good hand and began to examine his fingertips. "Then you must do your part and endure. In the meantime…in the meantime, perhaps…your father?"

"My stomach…." Gilberto swallowed dryly. "He thinks it's my stomach. We can't tell him."

Felipe fetched a cup of water and Father Benitez and Sir Edmond eased Gilberto up and braced him to drink. Gilberto reached hungrily for the cup, but his hand was shaking, and Father Benitez had to help him.

When he finished, Gilberto slumped back against the pillows. He grimaced. He took a few shallow breaths. "Father mustn't look for Diego. Please. He can't know."

Sir Edmond leaned down and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll look after your father. It will all come out well." He left the room without looking back. It might have been a retreat.

"Felipe, we'll need a teapot of hot water and some fresh towels," Father Benitez said.

Miserably, Felipe nodded and hurried off.

**Diego**

Palomarez passed through a small orange orchard owned by the Pascals and then turned directly east and set a faster pace. The land out here was dry and rocky and climbed slightly. How far were they going?

Had Palomarez chosen to hide the antidote in the wilderness? In land he didn't even know? It seemed so unlikely. And then Diego had a terrible thought: perhaps there _was_ no antidote and Palomarez was only running away as quickly as he could in order to hide his weakness and suffering from the eyes of his enemies.

Diego's heart began to pound at that. This desperate gamble was Gilberto's only chance. There was no time to guess at cures, and prayer would only get you so far. For all that Gilberto was large and healthy, this was not the sort of problem that he could solve with his own strength. There must be an antidote. There must.

Diego had to shift a hand to his saddle horn in order to maintain his balance. He knew better than to panic. Overtaxing his own heart would doom Gilberto just as thoroughly as Palomarez's lack of planning.

Palomarez's _possible_ lack of planning – Because surely, surely a cur who cared more for himself than God or country or the dignity of man would never risk using a poison he couldn't remedy. Diego steadied himself on that thought. Palomarez was not running away in despair. He was running toward something.

Diego breathed. Straightened. Looked carefully around. Palomarez was far up ahead, gingerly picking his way up a dry stream bed. Diego considered the uneven ground and reined Toronado to go around. There was very little vegetation and nothing green to hide behind, but Diego knew the territory, a little. He could use the contours of the land and the exposed rocks to keep himself hidden.

But really, this wasn't the sort of place to hide a small bottle of medicine. All the way out here? And one rock would look very like another to a stranger.

It occurred to him than that Palomarez might not have secreted his treasure so much as left it with a confederate. Although why, if he had extra men, he had kept them out of town –

Unless his allies were many or somehow…odious? And oh, how that thought chilled Diego. What if Palomarez's plan to sell Los Angeles to the British had extended to secreting an invasion force in the shadow of the Santa Ana Mountains? What if he were racing to reach them now, and Diego must take the antidote from a foreign army camp?

If he must, then he would.

But when Diego had Palomarez in view again his quarry had turned from his swift path eastward and was meandering generally north, looking around and pausing frequently.

For pity's sake, was the man lost? He couldn't be delirious from the poison, he hadn't been given any! Diego forced back his anger and stroked Toronado's sweaty neck.

Palomarez was looking for something on the ground. It took a moment for Diego to realize why, but when he did he had to bite down on a crow of joy: the antidote was not something Palomarez had, it was something he could obtain. It was a plant or a mineral and it was likely to be quite close.

Diego found himself having to slide a finger under his mask to wipe his eyes. This had been the biggest weakness in his plan, that there might _be_ no cure to find. Moving slowly, Diego guided Toronado closer and into the lee of a rocky outcrop. He spent a moment stroking the broad jaw reassuringly and then slipped around to watch Palomarez.

**Gilberto**

He could keep nothing down. He was desperately thirsty, but everything he tried to drink came right back up. Father Benitez held Gilberto upright while his stomach churned and twisted in vicious effort to empty itself. This time it was the vomiting remedy his belly was so ruthlessly rejecting.

Distantly, he heard knocking. _Oh, not this door, please_. But beside Gilberto's ear, Father Benitez looked up and called, "A moment."

_Damn. Damn_. But intrusion was a small, distant issue compared to his misery. The spasms ended at last. Gilberto rinsed his mouth from the cup Felipe offered and collapsed back against the pillows. The movement hurt his shoulder and arm, but not as badly as before. His body felt heavy and muffled. His eyes shut without his meaning them to.

The door opened. "I see things haven't improved any." Father's voice. Damn.

Gilberto turned his head, but he could not focus to see what Felipe answered.

"I hope you're right, but it lasted most of a week once, didn't it?" Father sighed. "Where is Diego ...Yes, I _see_ he is not here….That is probably best. I can imagine how badly he needs a break. I'm sorry I missed him, but I'm heading back to the house with Edmond to see how much damage Palomarez did. If the place is habitable, you and Diego should come home, at least. Poor Gilberto may not feel like moving. I could send Nuela out to nurse him. "

Felipe must have vigorously disagreed, because Father continued, "You may be right, but perhaps he can be convinced. Diego needs his rest."

"I will have a word with him," Father Benitez said, speaking for the first time.

"Ah. Father. I didn't expect to find you here. I see we are in your debt yet again."

"I have not gone beyond ordinary Christian charity, while your family has always been a source of joy and friendship. I am only sorry my poor efforts haven't been more use. But excuse me, Don Alejandro. I have thought of another remedy to try. I will be back in a few minutes."

The door shut on Father Benitez's retreating footsteps and Father dragged over a chair and sat with a sigh beside the bed. "Well, 'Berto."

Miserably, Gilberto blinked at him. "I'm sorry, Father."

"Sorry? For this? You are hardly at fault. I'm only sorry you have to be here instead of home."

Gilberto swallowed. "Hardly your fault," he returned hoarsely.

To his surprise, Father smiled broadly. "Not my fault, no, and a problem you fixed. By God, you were magnificent today, Gilberto! I had no idea, none at all." He cleared his throat. "Do I dare ask where you learned so much about forgery?"

"I began it to annoy Diego…."

Father laughed at that, but he became serious again very quickly. "You were brilliant, Son. I was digging in for a long fight and you….you just," he shrugged. "You took care of it. In a moment, you took care of it. I'm so proud of you."

Gilberto could not think of a single thing to say – or even to think.

"It seems we're quite indebted to you. How shall I reward you? Yes, I know, you feel wretched right now, but perhaps this will give you something pleasant to think of. Would you like a race horse? A ring? A gig and a matched pair?"

"We have…" Gilberto began, thinking that they already had plenty of horses _and_ a gig and a carriage and more wagons than he had bothered to count….And then, belatedly, stupidly, he realized that a team and gig were what a young man needed to go courting. He may have cringed.

"With Diego it's easy; he wants paints and sheet music. Hmm. You've done very well with the bees. Perhaps you'd like a more complex project. Shall I make a gift of the ugly sheep? Or perhaps you'd like to try some Russian cattle?"

"Really, Father!" He doted on those sheep. "…Being silly."

"Think about it, then. It will help pass the time while you recover from…._this_." He made a sympathetic face. Fooled, then. He didn't know. Gilberto sagged a bit in relief. "Get some rest, hmmm? I'll see you tomorrow."

**Diego**

On foot, leading his horse, Palomarez searched the desert. Sometimes he scrambled in a frantic hurry. Sometimes he stood very still, staring in all directions. Diego, pacing him now on his eastern flank, curbed his own urgency.

Suddenly Palomarez dropped his reins and dashed forward. What was he heading for? Diego didn't wait until he was sure of the destination. He ran, silently, shaving off the distance between them, staying low so he wouldn't be seen. He was breathless almost immediately. He pressed his hand to his side and concentrated on his feet rather than the growing burn in his lungs.

It was a cactus Palomarez was heading for. Diego caught up just as he was reaching for the small, pink flower growing out of one of the pads. As Palomarez turned to see what was making all the noise (Diego was well past managing silence now), he was met by a sword point.

Palomarez's eyes grew round with terror and helpless fury. It was good to see after the cowardly trick he had played on 'Berto, but Diego was gasping too hard to gloat. His legs were unsteady and his vision was beginning to darken at the edges. It was all he could do to keep his sword level -

Palomarez started to pull away. Diego cut him on the shoulder – a bit deeper than he'd meant to, but it brought Palomarez up short. He snarled, but subsided. "You have me," he ground out. "The antidote is the cactus. Step back and I will share it with you, show you how to use it….?" He smiled his oily smile.

Diego wished he could wipe away the sweat that had collected under his mask. "You were reaching for the flower."

Palomarez licked his lips nervously. "There is enough there for two," he coaxed.

"One flower?" Diego shook his head – just a little, as he was afraid of vertigo – and gestured with his sword. "Step back."

Palomarez faltered. "Please."

"I believe my need is greater," Diego said. He took a step toward the cactus. It was a very careful, slow step, because he felt a little unsteady and there was no convenient furniture to brace against in the desert.

"Do your eyes bother you, Zorro?" Palomarez smirked. He sprang, a wicked little knife in his hand. Catching the knife on the blade of his sword was easy. Stepping aside so Palomarez didn't crash into him was much more complicated than it should have been, and Diego stumbled and nearly fell.

"First the eyesight fails," Palomarez said, drawing his sword. "Then all sense of balance."

Diego almost smiled. He fenced fairly regularly with bad balance. Heh. And he had become an expert in ending a fight quickly. The combination that neatly disarmed Palomarez was almost a reflex. Palomarez found himself swordless even before he had finished his first feint.

Palomarez stood glaring after his fallen weapon. Diego motioned him to step back and back again, until his foot caught on a small stone and he sprawled backwards.

Diego took a couple of deep breaths. If he had been alone, he would have pushed his left hand into the growing stitch in his side, but he would not show that weakness to an enemy. As soon as he trusted himself to bend over, he carefully stepped around the cactus so he could keep Palomarez in view as he reached down and claimed the large, pink blossom.

"The flower," Palomarez mourned.

"Rare and precious." Carefully, one-handed, Diego wrapped it in his handkerchief and tucked it into his sash. "Still. If you start looking now, you might find another in bloom. This variety isn't common, but I've seen it before here and there." He whistled for Toronado.

Palomarez shifted to rise, but stilled as Diego lifted his sword. "Please, let me have it. Or at least tell me where…." he begged.

"If I allow you to live, what do I receive in return?"

"Anything! Anything at all!"

Toronado trotted up and nuzzled Diego in the shoulder. Gratefully, Diego laid a hand against the warm, silky neck. "All I want is for you to leave California forever," he said.

"Yes. You have my word. My men and I ride for Mexico today."

"Your word. The word of a cheat and a liar who meets an enemy with a poison blade?"

"No, I - "

But Diego was too tired for this game. He sheathed Zorro's sword and heaved himself into the saddle. "I accept," he said, turning Toronado's nose toward the west.

"Wait!" Palomarez began scrambling to his feet. "What about – You were – So. The great Zorro is nothing more than a murderer after all."

"There was no poison on the dart, Colonel. I needed you motivated, not dead. But if you return to this territory and give me the need, I will kill you on sight."

Diego didn't wait for an answer. This had already taken too long. He tapped Toronado with his heels and they shot out across the desert like a bolt from a crossbow. It wasn't something he would risk on another horse – the ground was too uneven. And even with Toronado, he could not keep up the pace for long. The giddiness he felt wasn't triumph, but his exhausted heart. Even now, with Palomarez further behind each passing minute, Diego's heart would not slow.

Damn. He reined Toronado in a bit and leaned low along his neck. This was the very reason why he was not allowed to ride alone. Or, for that matter, allowed to have a spirited horse. If Diego lost his seat here, on the rocks, with no one to help him, that might be the end. Not just for himself, but also for Gilberto, waiting at Victoria's, depending on him….

Loyal, brave Gilberto who had done so much. Everything Diego couldn't do himself any longer. He had become Zorro, ridden out again and again, faced impossible odds, taken all those risks. And now he was waiting for Diego, just this once, to do what needed to be done.

Diego gripped the saddle horn like a child. His mind was heavy and thick. He knew he wasn't looking up enough to keep a watch out for patrols. A couple of times he had trouble picturing his location. He tried to do better.

When they reached the creek south of town, Diego managed a clumsy dismount, stripped off the stifling, sweat-soaked mask and splashed his face with water. It cooled him a little, but since the problem was simple overuse rather than an actual seizure the water did not soothe his pounding heart.

Diego stayed down for a count of one-hundred and then rose slowly. Toronado pushed gently at his shoulder. Perhaps the stallion meant it as encouragement.

Diego retied the mask, but he could not force himself to put the hot gloves back on. How did poor 'Berto manage this abominable costume anyway?

The thought of his brother goaded him forward. Diego mounted and began the dangerous approach to town. He had neither the time nor the strength to play games with the lancers today. If he could get back to the rectory barn, he could get his own clothes…. But a steady stream of people were going in and out of the church, lighting candles most likely. Grateful. Pius. Diego hated their inconvenient virtue.

The tavern had music coming from it. There must be quite a party. It wouldn't be enough excitement, of course, for _Zorro_ to casually blend in and wander upstairs. Well. He had expected from the beginning that this part could only go one way.

He found the old mill quiet and empty although there had been recent work there. Tomorrow someone might notice a horse had been visiting, but there was no help for that.

Up the ladder into the loft. From the loft onto the roof. From the roof of the mill to the roof of the tavern. Fortunately, at least, the room was on the side of the tavern rather than facing the square and the cuertel. Diego paused for a moment, listening for voices in the room below. Was anyone in there with them? Father? Victoria? He couldn't hear anything at all over the rasp of his own breathing.

He could not just sit on the roof forever.

It was a short, easy drop from the roof to the windowsill, but Diego was not at all sure how long his grip would hold, and he rushed it. He landed stumbling and couldn't stop himself from crashing face down onto the floor.

He tried to push up. His arms were shaking and clumsy. He couldn't seem to get a breath.

Voices. Frantic, swift hands on him, pushing, turning. For a moment, Diego had a good look at Teodoro's face, studying him grimly, and then Teodoro pushed Diego's shoulders flat to the floor and commanded Felipe to lift his feet. The position made Diego's chest feel uncomfortably heavy, but it cleared his head a bit.

Diego fumbled in his sash and drew out the handkerchief. It was slightly damp, which confused him until Teodoro unwrapped the flower and examined the crushed petals. "This?" he asked.

Diego stared at the bruised flower in anguish.. _Ruined_. He had crushed it, their only chance –

"Hmmm. Interesting. I would not have thought of using it for this purpose, but I suppose it makes sense."

"Ruined," Diego whispered. _'Berto_.

Teodoro glanced up. "No, it is still quite usable. Felipe, we will need hot water – as near to boiling as you can manage. Hurry."

Still examining the flower, he rose. Diego heard him latching the door after Felipe and then move about the room, but he was not positioned to see what was going on.

"How ill is he? We need to…." Gilberto's voice. He didn't sound particularly strong.

"Stay still. We will look after Diego."

_No need,_ Diego thought. _I'm fine here._

Teodoro knelt beside him and gently stripped off the stifling mask. His warm fingers pressed into Diego's throat and then his wrist. Diego tried to push him away, but his hands were feeble and awkward.

"Stop it. Be still, Diego."

Diego closed his eyes and allowed himself to be prodded.

**Felipe**

The tavern was crowded. It seemed like almost everyone had stayed in town to celebrate. The kitchen was busy, and no one noticed Felipe slipping in. Victoria, like Maria at home, kept hot water handy over the fire. Felipe took a teapot from the shelf, filled it, and wrapped it in a towel. Pilar, serving up plates of rice and beans, paused to raise her brows in a silent question. Felipe shook his head: he didn't need anything else. She shrugged and continued her work.

Upstairs, Father Benitez briskly let him in and hurried back to kneel beside Diego. Diego was still on the floor, which was terrible and wrong, but Felipe understood it. Diego was grey. His small, restless movements were weak and uncoordinated. If he tried to rise like this he would surely faint, and Father Benitez was both small and elderly. He would never manage Diego's weight.

"There is a cup on the bureau with the handkerchief and flower in it. Pour the hot water into it until the cup is three-fourths full and then turn over the saucer and cover it." Doubtfully eying the sticky mess in the bottom of the tea cup, Felipe obeyed. "When you are finished, there is a bottle of hawthorn tea. Fill one of the other cups with that, add one drop of the digitalis tincture, and bring it here."

Felipe rapped on the bureau so that the priest looked up. "Not enough," he said.

"No, likely not. But we must proceed very slowly." He sat Diego up enough so he could swallow and held out an imperious hand for the cup. Felipe complied.

When the medicine was gone, Father Benitez lowered Diego's head again. "Can you manage?" he asked. "Like this, I mean? I want your head down for a while."

Diego nodded and settled back down on the floor. Unhappy, Felipe got him a pillow. Diego caught his hand. "I left Toronado in the mill."

He shouldn't stay there. Felipe patted Diego's shoulder and nodded. "I'll take care of it."

"Mustn't be seen….with him."

Obviously. Felipe rolled his eyes.

He collected the damning mask and hat and mask and hid them in the luggage. Then he snatched the blanket from the smaller bed and covered Diego before, with a miserable backwards look, he hurried out to fetch Toronado from hiding.

In fact, the plan was to have Toronado fetch himself. Felipe went into the open space behind the Senora Ortiz's barn and whistled. He whistled again and again – and Toronado came thundering around the garden wall.

The stallion was unhappy. He stopped readily enough for Felipe, but his ears were back and he looked around anxiously. Felipe stroked his nose and made soft clicking noises. "They are fine," he wanted to say. "Your friends are safe."

It took a few moments to calm Toronado enough to mount, but at last Felipe had him turned toward the hacienda….

In the cave, Toronado needed to be unsaddled and rubbed down. His bucket needed fresh water. Fresh hay. Oats. And then Felipe had to go back to town on foot, which would have been embarrassing if anyone had seen him.

He made sure no one did.

Going up the stairs at the tavern was fine. He had every right to be there. Probably no one noticed him at all. But it felt like everyone was staring.

Things had changed a little in the sickroom upstairs. Gilberto was still in the bigger bed, the covers knotted in his hands, his eyes closed, but not in sleep. Diego, at least, was off the floor. He had moved to the smaller bed and sat upright with his back against the cool adobe wall. Zorro's black clothing was hidden by a dressing gown.

Father Benitez sat in the chair by the window, apparently praying very calmly. He smiled encouragingly at Felipe and nodded for him to join Diego sitting on the bed. Felipe forced himself to smile back. He could wait calmly, too….

"How is he?" he asked Diego.

"He has kept the first half of the antidote down," Diego said softly. "That is a good sign."

Felipe nodded and patted his arm.

"Tell me how it went in with the meeting this morning."

Oh. That was right. Diego didn't know. It wasn't like Palomarez would have given him the details. "It was wonderful! Gilberto was brilliant! He was so calm and relaxed about, and _he_ was just getting angrier and angrier."

Diego smiled. "I am sorry I missed it."

Without turning to look at them, Gilberto growled, "If the boy is mocking me…remember, I fully intend to live…and eventually I will be…strong enough to toss him out a window."

"Oh, hush, Old Man. He was singing your praises." Diego paused. "Someone trying to kill you doesn't usually make you so ungracious, does it? I hadn't noticed before. It isn't becoming."

Gilberto didn't answer that, only looked at the ceiling and shuddered. Felipe would have told him he didn't mind, but Diego was holding one of his hands and Gilberto wasn't looking anyway.

Father Benitez rose and checked on him: pulse, eyes, tongue, fingertips. He prodded swollen scratch. It didn't look any better to Felipe, but Father Benitez nodded once and sedately walked back to his chair. He was very calm, or at least managing the appearance of calm.

No one said anything. Diego closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. In the quiet Felipe could hear the celebration downstairs. There was music, and the feel of dancing in the floor. Everyone was so happy Palomarez was gone. Felipe held tighter to Diego's hand.

Diego said, "This waiting is more than I can stand, too. I think fighting Palomarez was better."

Gilberto swallowed and shifted in the bed. "How bad was it?" he whispered.

Diego let go of Felipe's hand and leaned forward. "It wasn't," he said "Even when he isn't panicking, Palomarez is not as good with a sword as you."

"As though…beating me….is easy." A tease. They were both _trying_, pretending to smile. Felipe knotted his hands together.

Diego made a face. "Both of us wanted to end it quickly, but_ I_ have turned that into an art form." And then, "I wasn't kind to him, 'Berto. I let him…stew in his fear. I'll probably have to do penance for cruelty," he glanced at Father Benitez. "I can imagine how much he hates Zorro now. If he isn't too ashamed to show his face here again….we still have an enemy. Perhaps I should have killed him."

Gilberto groaned. "Turn you into a murderer on my behalf? No, thank you."

"It was all of us he threatened," Diego protested. But instead of continuing, he scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed.

Abruptly, Gilberto said, "I'm not seeing four of everything anymore."

Father Benitez lowered his eyes and crossed himself.

Softly, Diego asked, "How many of everything _are_ you seeing?"

"Well….two. But still. I think you've done it."

"And your stomach?" Father Benitez asked.

"Better, I think. Calm."

Father Benitez rose swiftly and examined him again. "Let's get the rest of the antidote in you, then."

Felipe went to stand by the window. He opened his eyes very wide to hold back the tears that were burning in the corners. Fine. It would all be fine.

"No. A sip at a time. This is all we have and it would take hours to get more. We are going to get the best use of it. Slowly. Be patient." But Father Benitez didn't sound particularly patient himself. When he finally set the cup down it was hard enough to make Felipe jump.

"You're angry, Teodoro," Diego said.

"Of course not," But the reasonable words were said in such hard tones that Felipe glanced back to see his face. No, Father Benitez did not expect his statement to be believed.

"I was afraid you would try to stop me," Diego said in a low voice. "I simply did not have the time to argue. Everything you would have said to me—it would have been correct. But I - "

"I am not angry with y_ou_!" It was not particularly believable denial.

"Teodoro."

"I had only thought…As terrible as Luis Ramone's death was….I had thought that least we were finished with this!" He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "I hate Zorro. Not because he risks all of your lives, though The Lord knows that is enough! I hate Zorro because he is necessary. That this criminal came to prey on the people of Los Angeles, and there was no defense at all but this – this absurd _lie_…. the terrible risk all of you take…."

Diego looked sadly down at his hands. "I'm sorry," he uncertainly.

Father Benitez shook his head. "You aren't. And you shouldn't be." He sighed, and turned back to the bed to check Gilberto. "How is the pain in your head?"

"Better. I'm," he yawned, "a little hungry."

"Not just now. Rest a bit, and then we'll see about food."

Gilberto didn't argue. He scooted down and curled over on his side. His back was to them and his face was nearly covered by the blanket.

"Hmmm." Father Benitez pronounced. He rearranged the pillows beside Gilberto and then motioned to Diego. "Let's have a look at you next," he said.

Diego shook his head. "I'm fine. Honestly."

He clearly wasn't. He was not grey the way he'd been when he arrived, but he still had circles under his eyes and his cheeks and lips weren't pink. Father Benitez didn't bother to argue. He pointed to the edge of the bed and Diego scowled and scooted forward.

Felipe folded his arms with his hands tucked under and waited. Father Benitez did all the checks Felipe normally did (pulse at throat and wrist, fingernails, ankles) but then he laid his ear against Diego's chest both front and back. Felipe felt a familiar stab of jealousy at that. His hearing wasn't good enough to make out a heartbeat at all, let alone hear the 'extra sound' that worried Gilberto and Father Benitez so much. It was no consolation that Dr. Hernandez had never heard the sound either. He was much better with injuries and surgery than with illnesses.

"Well?" Diego asked.

"Slow enough, but not as strong as I would like." He hesitated. "No. No more digitalis for now." He poured a cup of dandelion tea from a leather flask and handed it to Diego. Diego frowned, but didn't argue.

That was a little surprising. In his place, Felipe would have complained. Dandelion tea was pretty awful, and with the boots off they could clearly see that Diego's feet weren't swelling.

Not yet.

But_ no_, maybe not at _all_. Diego was tired, but there was no evidence he was _ill_. It was one morning's exertion, that's all. He hadn't gotten himself skewered. He hadn't fallen from Toronado. He hadn't fallen off the _roof_ -

"Now, you may as well lie down and get some rest too," Father Benitez said, pointing to the space beside Gilberto in the bigger bed.

Diego put on his best reasonable face and said, "I am fine here, Teodoro. Honestly."

"He'll sleep, Diego. Probably for several hours. Sitting and staring at him won't help. Although, if you feel someone _must_ do it, I will stay for a while…."

So Diego tried to make a great show of cooperation and climbed into bed. He couldn't conceal his exhaustion as he moved, though, and his eyes drifted closed as soon as he leaned back against the pillows.

And then…it was done. Both of the twins were safely in bed and asleep. Felipe just stared at them. This had nearly been the worst day Felipe could imagine. He could scarcely believe it had ended well.

Had it ended? Perhaps something else could go wrong?

Palomarez wasn't dead, but he wasn't likely to come back either, was he? Not when everyone knew he was a forger. And he had only ten men. If those fancy guardsmen were real soldiers (Gilberto had not been sure at all) they might already have arrested him.

Probably no trouble from that direction then. Don Alejandro? He wasn't asking any questions. He wasn't worried. He was busy enough not to fret over the twins.

Tomorrow? What was likely to happen tomorrow? What day was it anyway?

And then he realized: today was Wednesday. It was supposed to be newspaper day. They'd completely forgotten…everything. When Palomarez came to town yesterday afternoon, Diego had gone home. He'd sent Nicholas away to the safety of the mission and gone home with his Father to discuss the problem. They'd all left the type half-set - they'd just have to change the lead story anyway. But then they'd been kicked out of the house and Gilberto was poisoned and they'd forgotten all about it.

When Diego realized he'd missed newspaper day, he was going to be beside himself. It might be some consolation that there hadn't been a proper market day to sell it and that the only news anyone was interested in had been witnessed by everyone that morning. It might be some consolation, but probably not. Diego took the newspaper very seriously.

Father Benitez tapped Felipe on the arm. "Eat! You! When!" he signed. Usually, his sign wasn't so awkward, so probably he was attempting emphasis.

Felipe shrugged. He'd had some bread this morning.

"Now." He pointed at the door.

Felipe considered arguing….or at least wheedling. He wasn't hungry. But it was sensible to eat now. And while Father Benitez allowed a great many liberties, open rebellion would be well past the line.

He made a point of obeying gracefully and saying thank you as he tiptoed to the door.

**Diego**

Diego woke. Except for pointed streak of light on the ceiling, the room was dim. Almost sundown, then. The thought was thick and heavy with sleep. It would be lovely to shove the pillows aside and curl up and go back to sleep….

He didn't know what state Gilberto was in. They weren't safe at home. Groaning inwardly, Diego sat up and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He took a deep breath and spared a moment of grateful prayer that _that_ seemed to be all right, at least.

Then he turned to Gilberto. He had to scoot sideways to get his own shadow out of the way so he could see his brother's face. Gilberto looked…completely unlike himself: mussed, slack, a crust in the corners of his eyes. Diego's breath hitched. Even in the middle of round-up – dusty and smeared with manure – Gilberto was somehow tidy and dignified. Even in the ring, at the end of a tournament, when he was dripping with sweat….on Gilberto it never looked unkempt but rakish.

Diego regretted not running Palomarez through. But that was wrong, to place the blame somewhere else. Gilberto had been in danger long before he arrived. It was Diego who had sent his brother into danger. Over and over, Gilberto faced enemies because Diego asked him to. It was not anyone else's fault that Gilberto was lying here so helpless. _I'm sorry. Forgive me._ He couldn't say so, though. Gilberto would misunderstand.

Diego turned slowly and set his feet on the cool floor. Felipe was asleep – fully dressed, on top of the covers – on the other bed. Oh, what a job he had done today! All of their plans had hinged on him. What courage. What talent. How generous God had been, to lead Diego to this treasure in the midst of all that devastation.

Or perhaps not, at least for Felipe. He was still mostly a child. He deserved a stable, safe home, not the dubious 'adventure' of aiding an outlaw. If that had been a choice open to Diego…would he have the courage to remove Felipe from their plans? To give him the life he deserved?

But that wasn't the choice, was it? It was either defend Los Angeles or join Los Angeles in victimization. Before Zorro, the village had been such an ugly place that Father had hardly ever allowed Felipe to go there. Was oppression any kind of life for a child either?

Diego sighed.

Below, in the tavern, he could hear the dim sounds of a fiesta. It was singing now, rather than dancing. Well. Things had been glum and uncertain since Ramone's death. It had been a while since there had been anything to celebrate.

On the little table beside the bed was a cup, a pitcher of water, and two plates of cold chicken and rice. Diego drained the cup. Dandelion tea: better cold than hot, in Diego's opinion, but best of all completely avoided. However. This dose wouldn't hurt him, if he didn't need it. Unlike most of his medicines, the worst side effect dandelion had was making him a little thirsty.

The cold food would have been better hot, but he ate it so quickly it hardly mattered. He was eyeing the second plate – this was hardly the last food and town and surely Gilberto would prefer something fresh when he finally woke – when there was a soft knock at the door. In his hurry to get the door before the noise woke Gilberto orf Felipe, Diego jumped up and had to reset his feet at the wave of dizziness that crashed into him. And then, his head still swimming, he realized he still had the black pants on, _Zorro's_ pants, and he groped for the dressing gown.

As quickly and as quietly as he could – which is to say, neither – Diego got the door open.

Sir Edmond stood on the other side of it, holding a lamp. His face was lined with worry. "You did it?" he whispered.

Diego nodded.

"Gilberto?"

Diego drew him in and shut the door. "Out of danger and much improved," he whispered.

Sir Edmond sagged and lowered his head.

Diego patted his shoulder.

"You must tell me everything, my boy."

"Not now."

"No. Your father has sent the carriage to bring you home. Palomarez put his muddy boots everywhere and broke a window, but the house is perfectly habitable. I have volunteered to stay with your brother."

There was a groan from the bed. "Going home," he croaked.

Diego hurried to his side and poured a cup of water. Gilberto had to take it with his off-hand and he was shaking a bit, but he gulped with determination and held it out for more. After the second cup, he said, "I want to go home."

"I hoped you would," Sir Edmond said. He did not mention the alternatives that must have worried him.

Gilberto heaved the covers away. "Get me dressed," he ordered.

Diego shook his head and put the blanket back. "Eat something first. There's no rush.

Felipe, sleepy and tousled and rubbing his neck, nodded at the second plate. "Safe to eat," he said. "The priest will come by tomorrow to look at him."

"What about you?" Diego asked. "Are you hungry?"

Felipe shrugged. It was a yes. Sir Edmond said, "We'll go downstairs and give you a few minutes, eh?" He put his arm around Felipe's shoulders and led him out.

Diego looked after them for a few moments, then took a deep breath and turned to Gilberto. _Thank you_, he wanted to say. _Thank you for not dying_. But Gilberto would misunderstand. He understood Diego better than anyone, but he would misunderstand this….

Gilberto sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Were you magnificent?" he asked, smiling wanly.

"I'm afraid I didn't add to your legend. I wasn't clever or charming at all."

"Well, Palomarez….wouldn't expect Zorro to be particularly dashing, what with dying of poison."

Diego had to look away. And swallow.

"How bad?" Gilberto whispered.

"Not very. He was frantic, not thinking clearly, and - "

"No. You."

Diego folded his arms. "I…_hate_ how hard it was, to do such a simple thing. But. I managed it. I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "Now. Felipe said it was all right for you to eat. Much of your weakness may be from hunger at this point."

Gilberto's right shoulder was nearly frozen with stiffness and it was painful to the wrist. Nothing could be done for it, so Diego pretended it was unimportant. He had to feed Gilberto, though. He was still too ill to manage left handed.

Even with Diego helping, the simple meal tired him out. Diego wet a clean towel and wiped Gilberto's face and neck. "You don't have to come home tonight," he said. "Sir Edmond - "

Gilberto's eyes popped open. "Mother of God, Diego! Thank you, but no, I won't ask my sabre master to play nurse!"

The vehemence was a reassuring sign of strength, even though Diego couldn't make out the logic behind it. "I'm sure he could _manage_ - "

"He's already seen me puking and whimpering. It isn't likely I have any dignity left, but let's pretend, at least."

Oh. His pride. Diego considered letting the absurdity pass. "He's seen me faint," he said.

"That's different," Gilberto whined.

"Because I'm frail all the time? He's not going to think less of you for getting poisoned in a sword fight."

"Oh, shut up. I want to go home."

"All right. You can come home."

"And it wasn't a fight. He struck me from behind."

"As you say. Shall we get you dressed?"

_~TBC_


	4. August 24, 1815

Sorry, everybody, but this chapter is a little short and is mainly there to settle a few plot issues so the story can move I can is say is that next time will be much more exciting...

As usual, no ownership claimed, no profit made.

Oh, and hi to everybody at the Facebook New World Zorro Fanfiction group!

**A****ugust 24, 1815 **

**Felipe **

In the cool, dim cave Gilberto was currying Toronado. The strokes were uneven and halting. Three weeks now, and that right arm was still clumsy and weak. In company, he hid it as best he could and claimed he had wrenched it catching Diego in a dizzy spell. Privately, he complained. As often as he could, he exercised it - stretching, lifting, pushing.

Father Benitez said the poison had damaged the muscle, and it was to be expected that growing it back would be slow and arduous.

Sir Edmond said that hard work cured anything, and he drilled him twice a day, both to build up the ruined right arm and to train the left arm to compensate in the meantime. Diego could take Gilberto every time when he fought with his left hand, and even Felipe could beat him when he fought with the poisoned right one.

It was unpleasant for everyone. Gilberto frustrated and worried was …not at his best. He was petty and self-centered. He snapped at the servants, criticized the vaqueros, was sarcastic with his father and Diego….

It must be even worse for everyone who didn't know _why_ he was being such a bear all the time. Felipe didn't enjoy Gilberto being an utter pain, but since he understood the source, he could avoid the worst of his short temper and ignore the nasty little jibes.

"Why are you sneaking around?" Gilberto asked without turning. He also didn't turn for the answer, which was rude enough to be irritating despite Felipe's intention to patient and forgiving.

Last night before supper he had poked fun at Pepe for the little sheep that still followed him around like a pet. It wasn't so little any more, and it kept trying to come into the house. Whatever Gilberto said about it, though, made Pepe cry and Diego, fed up, had hauled his brother into the library for a talking-to.

Diego's lecture had probably been very good, but it appeared not to have worked. Felipe walked around to stand beside Toronado's head, petted the silky nose, and said, "Your father is already at breakfast. He'll be leaving soon. If you want to eat, you have to hurry."

Gilberto sighed and set down the curry comb. For a moment he leaned against Toronado's side and then he turned and headed up the stairs.

Don Alejandro was riding north today. He wanted to check on a couple of tenants and pay a visit to the Neilsons. Gilberto and Diego would be going too, but Felipe had to stay at home. He had neglected his geometry. Well, they were near the end of the book and it was hard and tedious and with the newspaper and so many _other_ things to do….

But anyway, he was stuck doing schoolwork while everyone else went visiting.

He tried pointing out that if he needed help with the mathematics he wouldn't get much done anyway alone, but Diego had said that Sir. Edmond would be staying home. "He doesn't want to spend all day in the saddle."

"Is he ill?" Felipe asked in surprise.

"No, I shouldn't think so. Why?"

Felipe considered the possibility that Diego had somehow prevailed upon Sir Edmond to supervise him, but that seemed excessive. Still. Not 'enjoying' riding seemed unlikely. It must be an excuse.

"Felipe?"

"He is a gentleman. How can he not like riding? That is what gentleman _means_."

Diego frowned doubtfully. "It does seem odd, but he is adamant. Perhaps… it is different if you are English."

That seemed unlikely. "Maybe because he's…old?"

"Maybe. Not that you should let him catch you saying that. In any case, he will be here at the house."

Glumly, Felipe saw them off in the stable yard right after breakfast: Diego on faithful Esperanza, Gilberto on Viking, and Don Alejandro coaxing along a two-year-old he was training to the saddle. Sir Edmond patted him on the shoulder. "If you finish your work, we can play chess later."

It was a kind offer. Felipe smiled thinly.

As it turned out Felipe didn't get to finish his geometry after all. Soon after the clock in the library struck eleven, Gilberto came racing through the house. He triggered the secret door and darted through without pausing to glance at either Sir Edmond or Felipe.

Sir Edmond stared at the fireplace for a moment, set down his book, and rose. "I'm going to fetch my sword. Just in case."

Felipe nodded. He piled up the geometry text, his was tablet, and his writing paper. He barely had time to set them in the cabinet before Gilberto returned, the leather bag Diego kept packed with medical supplies tucked under his arm.

Felipe darted in front of him. What was going on?

Gilberto paused and ran his free hand through his hair. "The damned chestnut colt threw him - " he broke off. "Father's leg is broken. Diego thinks. I had to leave them – Father can't ride, obviously." He paused to swallow. "Pedro is hitching up a wagon."

"I'm coming too!" Felipe signed urgently.

"Of course." He glanced up as Sir Edmond came in. "You too, if …."

"Alejandro with a broken leg," Sir Edmond said, falling in behind them. "He is going to be difficult."

Because they followed the route of the original party, the wagon trip north was slow and bumpy. They had been rattling along for about half an hour before Gilberto said, "It was my fault."

Felipe winced, but Sir Edmond only said, "I approve of taking responsibility, do not misunderstand. However, I have noticed that lately - "

"The chestnut bit Viking. I wasn't. I didn't." He paused to breathe. "Toronado is always a little…well, you've _seen_ him with Viking. I didn't realize he'd taught him such bad habits. And then. I wasn't paying attention, I was slow, and Viking turned and kicked at him...and Father…."

"Alejandro knows every bit as much as you do about training up a horse. If he didn't see the accident coming, it is hardly reasonable to expect that you would. At least, that is how it seems to me."

Felipe nudged Gilberto and asked if he was sure his father's leg was broken.

"Diego was sure. I…did not examine him myself."

He didn't say anything after that, which made conversation impossible since Sir Edmond's signing skills were not up to following Felipe in a moving wagon. There was nothing to do as the wagon jostled onward but look out across the dry summer hillsides, grass in shades of gold as far as the eye could see.

**Alejandro **

As long as he didn't move the pain was bearable. Unfortunately, breathing counted as moving. And his heartbeat. And the breeze.

The thought that shifting slightly might ease stabbing pain in his leg was an illusion. He'd given in to the hope and tried to stretch a few minutes ago. The wave of agony had transfixed him, left him gasping and drenched in sweat.

He kept his eyes on the sky, a deep, cloudless blue. He was lying against a saddle, his hands tangled in the stiff, dry, summer grass, in the shade. It might be a peaceful moment, except for the persistent pain and the embarrassment.

Thrown from a horse.

Not that falling was a particular source of shame. Alejandro had had worse falls. Many of them. But not, with such disastrous results. Perhaps, he wasn't a young man anymore. His bones weren't what they were.

"Father?" Diego said softly. "I'm ready."

Carefully, Alejandro tilted his chin and looked. Diego had torn his shirt into strips. And there were four stout rods he had cut from saplings by the creek. Alejandro cursed softly. "Let's get it over with."

"Let's talk a bit first. This will go easier if you are not dwelling on the injury."

"I'm unlikely to forget it," he said through his teeth.

"Father, the bloodline of the bull they are interested in buying in San Juan Capistrano….?"

Perhaps Alejandro could talk about stock breeding in his sleep. Diego asked him questions about various animals. Alejandro answered. The throb in his leg made him feel heavy and old, but the answers kept coming.

Diego's hands, when they finally shifted the swollen leg, were careful and steady. It hurt enough that Alejandro broke off his speculation on the sire of Dulcinea's upcoming foal and cursed vehemently.

Diego kept asking questions, things he already knew, surely, things he had little interest in. Diego only gave the stock the attention it needed, his real interest was plants; corn and melons and peaches. And his chemistry. Diego loved his chemistry.

"Don't hold your breath, Father. Breathe. Tell me about your plans for the chestnut colt."

And then Diego's clever, gentle hands were finished and the wooden staves were bound around the broken bone and Diego was saying, "I could do a better job with flat slats and more padding."

Amazingly, with the leg mobilized the relief was indescribable. The ach was still there, but the agony was blunted. Alejandro closed his eyes and sagged against the saddle. The sweat cooling on his face was deliciously sweet.

"Father, will you take a little water?"

Water? No. Not yet. Strangely, it was easier to sign 'no' than say it aloud.

"Father?" Diego was frowning. He took off his jacket and laid it across Alejandro's torso. Yes, that was good. Pleasantly cool had suddenly turned to cold.

"I'm all right, Diego."

"Of course. I'm not worrying."

A thought occurred to him. "There is a pistol in my saddlebag."

"I have it here. I don't think we'll need it, though. We aren't likely to meet up with anyone but our own vaqueros."

"Good, that's good. So competent. But I forget sometimes…you aren't eight anymore. And then suddenly you'll seem so old."

Diego sighed and squeezed his hand. "I am more serious than I'd like to be."

"Your illness."

"If you are going to say it has made me wise," Diego began sourly.

Alejandro glanced at him, and then turned his eyes to the dazzling blue sky. "What scares me is that you might be seeing Eternity. I'm not…ready for that, Diego."

"Neither am I." Diego squeezed Alejandro's hand until he met his eyes. "Father, when Gilberto gets back he's going to bring laudanum. You mustn't argue with him about taking it."

"Pot. Kettle."

"One dose, Father. We must be at least two miles from the road, and the road isn't all that smooth either."

"I'll… consider it."

"Father, I think both bones in your lower leg are broken. Your hands are already cold from the pain. The trip home…."

Alejandro groaned. "You are relentless."

"Where could I have inherited a stubborn streak…?" But Diego stopped pestering him and Alejandro was free to list to himself what a disaster this injury was for his rancho. Oh, damn, damn. It had not been a good year for injuries.

They were past the round-up and the harvest, at least. Would he be back on his feet in time for Dulcinea's foaling? _Merde._ And the fall planting was coming.

But after a while the shade did not seem quite so cold. Alejandro asked for water, and Diego managed to deliver little sips without jostling the leg. And then, at last, he heard the wagon coming.

**Felipe**

The next two weeks were incredibly busy.

Normally, with the newspaper, helping Gilberto exercise, looking after Toronado, and so on Felipe was too busy to keep up with his school work. Now, Diego and Gilberto were trying to look after the whole rancho in addition to their regular work with the bookkeeping and the beehives and the new house and _The Guardian_ and Zorro. Juan was a help, of course, but he was old. His usual duties were enough for him, and _usually_ Don Alejandro was riding the pastures and checking on the stock three or four days a week.

And besides all that, there was Don Alejandro, too. If that leg was going to heal properly he had to be kept still, but he wasn't patient and he hated being idle. On top of all the work, the patron had to be entertained (and when that failed, guilted into stillness.) Sir Edmond was good for that: he knew nothing about running ranch, but he was very good with chess (and drafts and all sorts of other exotic games).

Another good distraction was having Don Alejandro correct Felipe's schoolwork. Since it was useful (if tedious) it appealed to him, so he did it dutifully. Unfortunately, that meant Felipe had to actually work at his studies so that there would be something to correct.

Zorro wasn't needed, at least. There was no alcalde oppressing people, and bandits kept well clear of the roads and trails around Los Angeles. And it was summer; not planting season or pruning season or harvest season or lambing season or roundup. And Diego was doing well, another mercy. All his attacks had resolved with water in a very few minutes, and most nights were undisturbed.

There would be at least another month of this, though. Maybe more. Felipe tried not to think about that.

They handled everything fairly well until the letter came from the mission at San Juan Capistrano that they would meet the price for the bull. Don Alejandro had been planning to go down himself to deliver it, but that was out of the question now.

Diego offered to go. "It is a two-day trip. Three, if we don't hurry."

Felipe didn't like that: either Diego would rush cleaning up the paper on Wednesday and tire himself out, or he and Felipe would have to leave the press for Nicholas to handle alone on Thursday. "What about the paper?"

"I could help," Sir Edmond said. Felipe, Diego, and Sir Edmond were eating lunch in Don Alejandro's room to keep him company. Gilberto was out checking the watering holes which were always a worry during the dry season. "I managed the tavern for several weeks. I can keep the newspaper company for a day."

Felipe winced inwardly. Sir Edmond hadn't actually cooked in the tavern, and if he tried to help clear type, well, without practice, the process was horribly slow and ended with the tiny letters in the wrong bins.

Don Alejandro frowned, but not about the newspaper. "You and Felipe alone? I don't like it."

Reasonably, Diego said, "Staying close to home made sense when I was blackmailing the alcalde, but he's gone now."

"There are still bandits."

"You were just saying last month that California was as safe as it had ever been."

"Not safe enough."

"Fine. Then we could take Sir Edmond! He is a master swordsman."

Sir Edmond raised his hands and hastily swallowed to protest, "Oh, no, not I. Three days in the saddle? I shall pass."

"Gilberto, then. He is a good shot and adequate with a sword."

"Diego, I cannot spare both you and your brother _and_ Felipe, especially if Edmond is helping out with the newspaper."

Diego gritted his teeth. "We could leave on Friday."

Felipe lifted his hand. "I don't mind not going. I've seen it." He shrugged. "Not impressive: no town, and the food was bad. Nicholas and I can take care of the press."

Diego paused. "You don't want to come? Felipe, it isn't like you to pass up on an adventure."

Don Alejandro glanced between them. "We went down together a few years ago, while you were away at school. I seem to remember Felipe didn't enjoy it very much."

Felipe had hated it. He had been completely deaf at the time, and everyone had stared, as though they had never seen anything as horrible as someone speaking in signs before. Felipe had much preferred the trips to San Pedro, where they could see the ships that sometimes came. Or the trip up into the mountains, where they had seen snow. "I get plenty of adventure here," he said.

Don Alejandro, assuming that was a joke, chuckled.

Diego hesitated. "We could leave tomorrow. The newspaper could take a holiday. It isn't like there is enough news these days that anyone would miss it. And my first duty is to the rancho."

Alejandro drummed his fingers on the coverlet. "You have seen Madrid. Why are you so anxious to see Mission San Juan?"

Diego was slightly taken aback. "When you put it that way, I suppose I am not! I am anxious to do my share, though. And I don't think we should send Old Juan."

Alejandro made a face. "One of us should go, I suppose."

"Why?" Edmond asked. "You _could_ just send someone to make the delivery, surely?"

Don Alejandro glanced at Felipe and Diego. "Capistrano is not as…congenial as San Gabriel. The problem is more….attitude than anything else, but…" he shrugged stiffly. "I'm tempted to cancel the sale."

Diego shook his head. "They would assume something was wrong with the bull. Our reputation…."

"Yes, Diego, thank you!" Don Alejandro snapped. "I am aware that we have a simple problem with an obvious solution!" He stared out the window for a long moment. "Diego, you will go to Capistrano. Leaving on Thursday will be soon enough. You will take Gilberto with you."

_~TBC_


	5. September 15, 1815

_For TomcatGM and Aimless, who have been waiting (eeek, over a year) for this one. I'm sorry it took so long, but it had to happen now. _

**September 15, 1815**

When Maria sent Felipe to the store in town Friday afternoon it was an act of kindness. Alejandro had been in a sour mood ever since the twins had left the previous morning. And then, early this morning, Dulcinea had foaled.

Still forbidden the use of crutches, Don Alejandro had ordered Felix to carry him out to the barn, where he fretted and complained until the foal appeared. That it was a beautiful, perfectly proportioned, sturdy little colt didn't actually seem to help his mood.

Felipe wasn't as good at reading Don Alejandro as he was with the twins. Was he just worried because the boys were away from home? Was he irritated because Dulcinea had done as well on her own as his stock plans would have? Was he just frustrated and embarrassed by being so helpless?

Don Alejandro didn't yell at anyone for anything today. He hardly spoke at all, which was almost worse. Felipe watered the roses and then cut some flowers and brought them in. Don Alejandro glared at them. Felipe brought him lunch. Don Alejandro said 'thank you' very politely and picked at his food. Sir Edmond challenged him to a game of chess. Don Alejandro lost twice and hardly seemed to notice.

He did notice every mistake in Felipe's schoolwork. And he noticed when Felipe spilled a cup of milk in the library. And he noticed when Felipe could not find the book Don Alejandro wanted anywhere. He hardly _said_ anything about any of that, but his irritation and impatience were so palpable words weren't necessary.

In the late afternoon, Maria took Felipe aside and sent him to town to for cheese and tea. "I need them for breakfast tomorrow, not supper tonight, so there is no hurry. You may stop for lemonade at the tavern, if you wish."

Felipe was delighted to be gotten out of the way. He almost ran to the stable to saddle Sunshine.

When he had the supplies safely packed away in the saddlebag, he did go to the tavern for that lemonade. It was a relief not to be at the hacienda, where everyone was on edge. But he couldn't stop worrying about the same things he'd worried about at home.

_Were_ the twins all right? The travel itself wasn't nearly the worry that Diego's health was. If he got sick on the road –

If he got sick on the road, Gilberto would be there. And there was no reason to think that Diego _would_ have trouble. And as soon as the boys got home, Don Alejandro would calm down. Or at least be able to vent his distress with an audience that shared his temperament. Maybe.

He sighed and sat back. Diego might have news from Capistrano for the paper. That would be interesting.

Victoria came over with a pitcher of lemonade. "How are things at home?" she asked.

Felipe shrugged. There was nothing he wanted to explain.

"It is unusual to see you in town without Diego."

"Diego and Gilberto were sent south." Victoria frowned slightly, not quite following, so he added, "They will be back tonight."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose they are very busy while Don Alejandro recovers. Well, when Diego gets back, he should talk to Jose Rivas." She nodded to a table in the corner where Rivas was talking to Daniil Neilson. "He brought down three wild cats in four days, trying to get at his cattle."

Felipe shook his head. "Cats? Unusual, but not very interesting."

"Rivas said the biggest one was almost eight feet long! He has the pelt. Diego should ride out and see it."

Felipe tried to imagine a puma eight feet long. That would put it two feet longer than Diego, with jaws and teeth to match –

He stopped trying to imagine it. "I'll tell him – "

The door slammed open and three men strode in. They were the strangest people Felipe had ever seen, and for a moment, he was frozen with confusion. They wore bright, mismatched clothing, battered hats, and unkempt beards. They weren't peons or caballeros or neophytes or lancers. They didn't seem to be anyone.

And then Victoria grabbed him by the arm, hauled him out of his chair and shoved him toward the kitchen. Felipe noticed then that the odd men were armed. And yelling. But with the tavern customers yelling too, it was impossible to tell what anyone was saying.

They were met at the kitchen doorway by two more men, huge men with short curved swords. Felipe stumbled to a stop and clung to Victoria's hand. The sound of a pistol going off indoors was nearly a physical blow, and he and Victoria both jumped.

"Quiet! Heh. That's more like it. Sanchez, line 'em up quick!"

Felipe found himself shoved between Jose Rivas and Emilio Paschal. "What's going on?" Paschal demanded.

One of the strange man casually slapped him hard enough that he stumbled into Felipe. "The next man who speaks is mine."

Quietly, politely, Daniil Neilson said, "Sir, I should warn you. There is a military garrison close by. What you're doing, it won't end well."

The leader of the – Oh, dear God, _pirates_, these were pirates! Felipe's legs nearly gave way.

The leader was standing just a foot away now, staring at Senor Neilson. He smiled. "How kind of you to favor us with your advice. But we saw them leave on patrol, and the rest, my men have taken care of. So there is no need for you to worry on our behalf." And then he punched Senor Neilson so hard he doubled up and fell.

"The name is Henry Stark, captain of the _Golden Lion_. I need a few able-bodied volunteers."

**Gilberto**

Diego reined in Esperanza swung down, and drew the reins around to lead her. "Do you need a rest?" Gilberto asked, dismounting himself.

"No, I'm fine," Diego answered, continuing along the road while Esperanza walked at his shoulder.

"Diego, we have a few moments. We've made very good time." They had. Several dry months had left the road in very good shape, the weather was perfect, and they had gotten off very early that morning.

Diego gave him a wry look. "Father will be fretting. The last time you took me anywhere you brought me back dying."

Gilberto wondered if he had meant that to be funny or if he was trying to pick a fight. Certainly, right now, Gilberto wanted to deck him.

"I'm sorry," Diego said softly. "That wasn't…."

Gilberto smiled coolly. "I forgive you." He looked Diego over. His color was good. He wasn't walking _fast_, but he was walking steadily. His shoulders were straight, not hunched forward as they did sometimes when he had trouble breathing. There was no clear view of his fingers, but -

"'Berto…There will be plenty of opportunity to fuss over me and worry. _Today_, I am all right."

"All right. I won't ask – " He broke off, distracted by a wagon coming down the King's Road. It seemed to be packed with people. "If Ramone were still alive, I would worry that that was using conscript labor again…."

"There is something odd here," Diego murmured.

"Agreed." Gilberto retrieved the pistol from his saddlebag and mounted Viking. "Keep on. Act normally." He counted the mounted men guarding the wagon: four. And they had muskets. He couldn't take them.

The wagon reached them very quickly. It was packed with people, but some of them were women, and some of them were well dressed, and _Oh, Diego, keep your mouth shut_, because that was Felipe. And Victoria. Bound. Under guard by armed pirates.

It was a terrible effort to keep his own face still. Daniil and Oksana Neilson. Rivas. Two of Old Don Roberto's vaqueros. Emilio and Amanda Paschal.

The wagon was still coming, nearly upon them now. The pirate driving the wagon glanced at the pistol resting beside Gilberto's saddle horn. Gilberto smiled: it was Zorro's smile, though he had not meant it to be.

Diego drew Esperanza aside as the wagon came to them. "Good afternoon," he called pleasantly. "Why are these good people being held prisoner?"

The driver reined in slightly, his eyes flicking again to Gilberto's weapon. "They aren't prisoners, my friend! They are volunteers, seeking their fortune in my service."

"Oh, I see." Diego shook his head regretfully. "Your cause won't be much helped by them. The boy there is a servant of a friend of mine. He's uncommonly stupid, of no value to you. And that woman is a quarrelsome barmaid."

The pirate laughed. "Then they won't be missed!" He snapped the reins and the wagon moved on. Gilberto let them pass, continued walking forward, resisted the urge to look back. He kept himself between the enemy and Diego. If they could not get them both at once with clean shots, they might decide a fight would be more than it was worth.

And then they crested the little hill and the wagon was out of sight behind them. Gilberto slumped in the saddle, cursing viciously in French. It didn't make him feel better.

"Dear God," Diego whispered. "Pirates. They've been to town."

"You saw - "

"I saw! Felipe and Victoria are still alive. We will get them back."

"Oh, no. Not _we_."

"You will go and get Zorro. I will follow them and leave a trail. They won't stay on the road - "

"No. Go to town. Get the garrison - "

"Wherever they're going - The garrison? They have _been to town_. Assuming anyone is still alive, they already _know_ what happened - "

"Diego you cannot - "

"_You_ can follow them, and _I_ will go get Zorro."

Gilberto ground his teeth. "You wouldn't."

Diego gazed at him levelly.

"Damn you."

"Hurry," Diego whispered. "Please. Zorro may be their only hope."

Gilberto swung Viking and spurred him sharply. He galloped north along the road until they were a couple miles south of Los Angeles, and then he turned slightly east and set across country. Viking was lathered and winded by then, and Gilberto dismounted to walk him.

The sun was almost to the tops of the trees. Even on Torondo, it would be hard to even make it back to the place he'd left Diego before nightfall. And if Diego was right and they left the road, the darkness would make it impossible to follow whatever trail Diego could leave.

He was distracted enough with worry that he didn't notice the small figure running through the dry grass until it had had time to notice Gilberto. Surprising, the runner dodged sideways, headed for the cover of the trees -

- trailed by a medium sized sheep. Pepe? For a moment, Gilberto hesitated. If word got back that he was in the area alone and had not appeared at home, Father would go mad with worry. And besides, what was Pepe doing, running around alone so far from home with pirates in the area?

Raging inwardly, Gilberto mounted Viking and coaxed him into a canter. He very quickly caught up with Pepe. The boy stopped running and glared up at him stubbornly. If the delay weren't so horrible, Gilberto would find this all very curious. "Pepe, what are you doing here?"

Pepe lifted his chin and said defiantly, "I'm going to kill the pirates."

Oh, _unbelievable_. Gilberto snatched him up and tossed him across the saddle in front of him.

"No, you have to let me go kill the pirates!" Pepe wiggled and kicked.

He was completely adamant about running off and getting killed. Change of plan then. Gilberto clamped down on his upper arm and angled Viking toward the hacienda rather than the ravine.

He was met at the gate by Tomas and Maria. They were both carrying muskets.

"Don Gilberto, there were pirates in town - " Tomas began. He was nearly in tears.

Gilberto did not have time to spare for him. "Where have they been? Who was killed?"

"One of the lancers in town was killed. Two others were badly beaten," Maria said. "We don't know where else they have been or where they are now."

"_Now_, they are well south of here."

He kept hold of Pepe as he dismounted and tossed the reins to Tomas. "Take care of him. Father would be furious if he saw that I ran a horse this way." He stalked into the house, hauling Pepe along beside him. The half-grown lamb trotted along after them, and Gilberto didn't manage to close the door on it, so it followed him right through the house.

He found Father seated in the parlor, his bad leg stretched out before him on the settee and two pistols sitting on the table beside him. "Gilberto," he breathed.

Gilberto dropped Pepe in a heap at Father's feet. "I found this creature hunting for pirates so he could kill them all himself."

Instead of yelling at Pepe, Father groaned softly and opened up his arms. To Gilberto's shock, Pepe climbed into Father's lap and began to weep. Gilberto shook off his surprise and confusion since there was no time for them anyway. "The pirates have taken prisoners from Los Angeles. They were going south on the King's Road when I saw them last." He swallowed. "Diego is following them to leave a trail."

Father's arms tightened around Pepe briefly. "They are already pursued. When word came from town, Edmond took Juan and a dozen of our men to search. The lancers were due to return from patrol an hour or two ago. They should be out looking by now, too."

Yes. All right. That was good. Gilberto took a deep breath, the first he'd had in a while.

"How was your brother?"

"Well. When I last saw him. Father, I'm sorry - "

"No. You did the right thing, both of you." Father's eyes rested on him sadly. "I would give anything to go with you."

"Everyone else has a head start on me. I may miss all the fun…."

"Bring them home."

"I promise." He couldn't meet Father's eyes anymore and turned away. Pepe's sheep was nosing hungrily at the curtains. Gilberto forced himself to grin. "I'll take care of our little friend here on my way out."

He left the hacienda as Gilberto, riding Princess, carrying only his own sword and pistol. There was no time to go back for Zorro and no way to explain his own absence if he tried it. What he'd said to Father had been true, though. The excitement might be all over before he got there.

**Diego**

The pirates followed the road south for almost a mile before turning aside to the east. The track left by the cart and horses was clear enough in the dry summer grass, but evening was coming and there was a great deal of road to search. Diego marked the spot with his handkerchief, weighted down by small rocks and decorated by a button from his jacket.

Their trail across country left no line of dust in the air to follow, but it disturbed birds, which was almost as good. Diego followed at a distance, trying to stay patient, looking – despite knowing that taking any action was impossible – for some advantage in the terrain.

The pirates paused briefly at a Segovia tenant farm. Diego lay down on his belly at the crest of a low hill and watched. They added two young men from the house to the wagon and took every last chicken from the barnyard. When the wagon had moved on and was well out of sight, Diego retrieved Esperanza and led her down the hill to the one-room farmhouse. There were no bodies, no injured peasants crying for help. The only blood was from the beheaded chickens. It appeared that the young men had been the only people at home….

Diego offered up a brief prayer of thanks, then took a stick and wrote a brief message in the packed dirt of the yard: _NO INJURIES_.

When he stood up he found he needed several deep breaths. Leaning against Esperanza's warm shoulder, he checked his pocket watch and considered how much medicine he had taken at noon. _Careful. Careful._ If he made a mistake in the dosage it wasn't only himself who would suffer. He settled on two small sips now, another to follow in half an hour if his pulse was still fast.

Going forward there was a trail of blood drops from the chickens to follow. If the pirates were aware they were leaving such obvious evidence, they might be carefully watching their rear for pursuit. But…they truly might not be aware. They weren't landlubbers, after all. Nothing left tracks in the sea. They _might_ not notice the little details of life here on shore.

Smooth hills golden with summer grass began to give way to dry ground and scree. They were in the foothills southeast of town, entering the rough country—hills and ravines would soon give way to cliffs and canyons. That wagon wouldn't do them much good soon….

The smell of smoke first alerted Diego that the Pirates had made camp. He hid Esperanza in a shallow ravine and crept through the brush until he was quite close to the tableland where the wagon had stopped. The women had been set to plucking and spitting the chickens. The men were tied hand and foot, and set far enough apart that they couldn't speak privately to one another.

Diego stared for a long minute at Felipe. He couldn't _see_ any sign of injury. He looked more angry than afraid. '_Berto is coming. We will get you out of this, I promise you, Son_.

On the other side of the camp where the women were preparing dinner, the guard watching them dipped his fingers into the blood of the chicken Amanda Paschal was cleaning. He licked the blood from his fingers and loomed over her, chuckling. Dona Amanda began to cry.

The evening seemed suddenly, painfully cold. Diego shivered. He had seen the look in that man's eyes before. Every time Luis Ramone had presided over a public whipping, every time he thought he had Zorro in his grasp, the one time he had had Diego alone in a small, hot storeroom within the cuertel. It was the look of a man who enjoyed hurting someone helpless.

But where Ramone had always had to be cautious, picking his victims carefully and reining in his impulses in order to protect his position, this pirate had no position to protect. There would be nothing to stop him from indulging himself once these buccaneers had gotten – whatever it was they wanted– from the townspeople.

And that was another worry: what did the pirates want and how long would it take them to get it? Zorro might not arrive before tomorrow morning. Did the captives have that long?

Slowly, carefully, Diego shifted closer to the camp. He was hoping to overhear what the pirates were saying. Or perhaps slip close enough to run off with their gunpowder. Anything. There must be something he could do –

The shadows were very long now. Soon it would be dusk. Diego eased back...and to the side…and into a hollow beside a bush not more than eight feet away from Felipe. Scarcely daring to breath, Diego picked up a tiny pebble and flicked it against Felipe's arm.

Startled, Felipe looked around, his eyes widening as he realized what he was seeing.

Diego took the tiny knife he used to sharpen quills from his pocket and tossed it into Felipe's lap. Awkwardly, because his hands tied, Felipe flipped the blade around and cut the cord around his wrists in three swift strokes. He bent forward over the bindings at his ankles –

And Diego felt a cool, wide blade press against his shoulder. A broad hand clamped on his upper arm and drew him upward. For a brief moment Diego considered putting up a fight, but just then Felipe looked up, his eyes widening with alarm. "Run!" Diego bellowed.

Felipe—brilliant, brave, obedient, Felipe—turned and ran like a rabbit. He didn't hesitate. He didn't look back. Before the pirates even had time to draw their weapons he was gone into the rocks. Diego had never felt so proud in his life.

The captain of the pirates sent out three of his men to search for him, but it was already getting dark. They found Esperanza, but not Felipe.

While they were gone, Captain Stark – going on about his own greatness - had Diego searched. They took the knife he had stuck into his sash, his pocketwatch and all his money. They left the quills and the little bottle of medicine.

When the hunters returned, the brigands had a short, worried discussion. Diego couldn't hear what they said, but when it was over they took the shoes from all the men, retied everyone more securely, and then brought the three women over and tied them too.

"Don Diego, my friend, I am sorry to see you," Daniil Neilson said.

Diego smiled reassuringly. Actually, this was not the worst outcome possible. Oh, it wasn't as marvelous as supper at the hacienda with dancing afterward, but still. Felipe was free. Gilberto was on his way. It was a shame he hadn't been able to get Victoria away as well, but he was here with her, at least.

His hands tied in front of him was a bit of a problem. Possibly it was an illusion of the mind, but it _felt_ as though his shoulders were drawn in, pressing on his lungs and making it difficult to take a deep breath. Of course, that might have nothing to do with the bindings; it was one of his usual symptoms, feeling stifled and airless.

It was not a good symptom to be having under the circumstances.

Grimacing slightly, Diego formed his hands into fists and pressed his knuckles down against the ground in front of him. And, yes, that did seem to help a little. Diego schooled his features into an expression of patience and calm and slowly breathed.

**Victoria **

The last of the sunlight was gone now, and the half-moon didn't give much light. The campfire the pirates had built was close enough to be dazzling if you looked at it, but too far to give any warmth, and the air was already chilly. Victoria would have wrapped her arms around herself, but her hands were tied in front of her.

The grass she was sitting on was prickly and sparse. Victoria shifted. And shifted again.

Close to the fire the tall and bald pirate was quarreling with the short, bearded pirate who smelled like old fish. It wasn't enough of a distraction to use to escape, though. Stark was still watching, and there was a guard at the north end of camp, which meant the only way to run was uphill – not a likely option with her hands tied. Victoria shivered and tried (again) to settle on the hard, prickly ground.

She was angry.

Victoria was angry with Diego for getting captured – although the twins had been together on the road, and so it was possible that this was part of an elaborate plan on their part.

She was angry with the government. She had paid five hundred and nineteen pesos in taxes last year, and in return the Crown let pirates freely wander not just the _coast_, but several miles inland.

She was angry with herself for not having a way to protect either her premises or her customers. And she was angry with her customers for not running faster.

The anger was pointless, and she knew, distantly, that fear would probably be more relevant. She was also pretty sure that fear would be _worse_. Pirates didn't see women very often, and they weren't known for their regard for human dignity.

She was angry because if no rescue came and they hurt her, Diego would _see_ it.

In a little while the chickens were done, and the pirates settled down to a small fiesta with Victoria's bread and wine and pies to make the meal complete. For the first time, Victoria noticed her own hunger. Their captors had set a bucket of water among the prisoners so that there was something to drink, but lunch had been a long time ago.

When they'd had their fill, the pirates brought over the three chickens that remained. The roasted meat was tasty and fresh, although tough and completely unseasoned. Watching the Paschals try to eat without utensils or plates might have been amusing under other circumstances, but Victoria was distracted by worry over this 'generosity.' Was it a good thing, that they had been given food? It surely meant that they were not to be killed right away, at least. But Stark had mentioned needing the prisoners for some kind of work: something arduous enough that they needed to be well fed?

Whatever Stark's motive, Victoria was fairly sure it wasn't human kindness. He might expect something in return for the chicken….

When they were finished eating the bald pirate stood guard while the fish-smelling pirate took them in one at a time to relieve themselves and get a drink of fresh water in the stream. The women refused to go until they were allowed to go together. Their guard laughed and spat in the dirt. "If you run, don't run too fast: I only have a shot for the one in the lead." He seemed to think that was very funny. On the way to the cluster of bushes that served as a privy he joked, "So? Which one of y'uns ya rec'on is the quickest? Let's have a go!"

The ground seemed even harder and pricklier when they returned from the short break. And the air seemed colder. And the darkness beyond the camp seemed…deep and dangerous. _Noises_ were starting. Birds and bugs and things that seemed much closer here than they did in town. Victoria had never slept in the wilds before. Her family had owned an inn with lots of comfortable beds, and while her father and brothers had gone hunting occasionally, that wasn't the sort of thing girls did.

Victoria realized she hadn't missed anything. It was strange and unpleasant. Looking at the other captives, though, it was clear that the men were no more comfortable or at ease than she was. Perhaps sleeping rough didn't improve with practice.

Suddenly, Victoria noticed Diego stiffen and rise to his knees. She followed his gaze and saw the bald pirate coming toward them, not quickly but with purpose. He came to the edge of the little cluster of prisoners and looked down. With the firelight behind him, Victoria couldn't make out his expression, but his face turned between herself and Dona Amanda.

Then he made a little chuff of amusement and leaned down, his hand extending toward Victoria. Awkwardly, she pulled back, and suddenly Diego was between her and the pirate. "No," he said calmly.

Victoria felt movement behind her. She glanced back and saw Daniil Neilson latching onto her upper arm with his bound hands. On the other side, Don Emilio was scrambling to get his wife behind him, and Jose Rivas, too far away to do any good at all, was trying to scramble forward like a worm. At last her anger melted away into a desperate fear.

"Get out of the way, fancy boy," the pirate said impatiently.

Diego, bound and kneeling, seemed unimpressed by the huge, filthy brigand standing over him. "Over my dead body," he said softly.

"Suits me," the pirate said cheerfully and kicked Diego in the ribs hard enough to send him crashing back into Victoria. She was crushed between Diego and Senor Neilson now, with no hands free to grab either of them. Dona Amanda began to weep and Senora Neilson began to pray and the pirate drew back his leg to kick again -

"Here, now, what's all this then?" Henry Stark demanded, striding out of the darkness.

Daniil Neilson answered him in his rough Russian accent. "Brother, you will have to kill all of us before we will allow you to hurt any of us."

Victoria glanced back again and saw that, yes, all the prisoners were packed together now, pressing in, holding on, the women in the middle. Senora Neilson was pressed against Victoria's side, and she was still praying, quietly, steadily, in Russian.

Victoria looked down at the shadow that was Diego, half in her lap, struggling to get his bound hands under him, panting. Victoria began to pray as well: "Salve, Regina, Mater misericordiæ, vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra – "

"All right, enough of this! You are on guard duty, Zugno."

"There ain't no harm - "

"I need them all alive and able to dig tomorrow, Zugno. You can play with them later."

With a growl the bald pirate stalked away. Stark stood over them for a moment, looking down at his prisoners. "Don't get any ideas. If any of you misbehaves, one of you gets a bullet. I don't care which. Now settle down and get some sleep. You'll need your strength tomorrow."

None of them moved until Stark had walked back to the fire.

"Diego?" Victoria whispered.

"Forgive me – Victoria – Just a moment – " his hands groped for purchase, closed on her leg. Diego gasped and flinched away, but since he was leaning on her there was no place to go.

"It's all right, it's all right," Victoria murmured, finding his shoulder and bracing him as he sat up. "It's all right."

"Easy now," Daniil Neilson said, taking Diego by the other side. "Do you feel broken? Can you breathe?"

Diego painfully arched backward and took a deep breath. "I can breathe," he said. "Nothing is broken. Thank you, my friends … thank you…."

Dona Amanda had her head hidden in her husband's shoulder, weeping. Jose Rivas and the two vaqueros from town were shifting to position themselves at the edges of the party. The two young men who had been captured at the farm house were whispering together hotly. Daniil Neilson tapped one of them on the shoulder. "Help is coming," he said. "We need only survive."

One of then began to curse colorfully. In other circumstances, Victoria might have felt offended.

"The devil has them. He doesn't need you as well," Daniil Neilson said, shaking his head.

Victoria looked anxiously at Diego. He wasn't hunched anymore. In the dark, though, she couldn't make out his expression, only the reflection of firelight off his eyes. "Diego," she said softly, "thank you."

He turned his head slightly away. "It worked because we stood together. That little bit of power is all we have."

"Are you…all right?"

He laughed once at that. "As 'all right' as any of us at the moment. Here. Turn a bit, so you aren't facing the fire."

Victoria squirmed in the direction he was indicating. Her feet weren't tied, but with her hands bound, balance was hard.

"Now, look up. It's an excellent night for starwatching. The moon will be going down soon, and everything will be much clearer."

"Starwatching," she repeated. She thought she had become accustomed to Diego's oddities, but this astonished her. They were _prisoners_.

"Victoria…How well do you expect you are going to sleep?" he asked with exaggerated patience. "I'm not going to get much, lying on the ground all night. Now. The tops of those trees over there, on our left…Look up just a little bit….That's the beginning of the Hydra. His head goes around in a kind of loop and … the neck goes to the left little… and up and down and over…."

The Paschals had curled against each other lying on the ground, but the other prisoners – and the fish-smelling guard with the bloodthirsty sense of humor – listened for what must have been a couple of hours while Diego talked himself across the sky.

Finally, he stopped telling amusing stories about stars and said to Senor Neilson, "Daniil, I need a bit of help reaching my pocket." The guard sat up alertly, but Diego shook his head. "You have already searched me. It's nothing dangerous. Only my medicine."

Victoria shifted out of the way and drew her knees up to rest her forehead on them. Nervously, she waited while Senor Neilson did what he needed to help Diego, and the guard loomed over all of them.

Stark, noticing the movement, came over and stalked back and forth in front of his prisoners for a couple of minutes, making his distrust clear. When Diego and Senor Neilson had returned to their positions, Stark ordered everyone to lie down and be quiet.

Senora Nielson took charge of organizing that— she placed Victoria between herself and Dona Amanda. On the other side of the married women were their husbands. The other men scattered themselves around the edges. Diego settled himself near Daniil Neilson, but a bit past his head, so that he was lying against the slope of the rocky hill that made the eastern border of the camp.

The ground was hard, but at least it was not so very cold with warm bodies close on either side. Victoria closed her eyes and tried to still herself enough to sleep.

**Felipe**

He ran.

Scraggly, dry brush scratched against his face. The ground was hard and uneven and, when he fell, sharp against his palms and knees. He ran anyway. Everything hurt and breathing was a dry rasp in the back of his throat, but he kept running He ran until he fell so hard that he tasted dirt and the coppery tang of blood.

He stumbled to his feet and ran – and fell again at once.

Lying in the dry dirt panting, he realized that it had gotten dark. It was night already.

Slowly, Felipe sat up. He was shaking and his gasping breaths scraped against his raw, dry throat. The moon was barely enough to make out the general shapes of the rocks and scrub around him.

_Our Father who art in heaven -_

Felipe pressed his face into his stinging, filthy hands and tried to think. How far had he come? In what direction? _Run_, Diego had commanded, and yes, that was right. There was nothing he could do to help, unarmed and small, another hostage to use against Diego or Zorro….

He should have stopped.

He should have noticed where he was going. Or noticed where he'd been. Or given just a moment's thought to a destination, the possibility of finding help. Or about anything.

When they had passed the twins on the road, they had been _together_. That meant that Zorro would be out there somewhere. Felipe should have been looking for him.

It was too dark now to find anything.

Felipe rested his head on his arms. It had gotten cold, he noticed. He wasn't dressed for nighttime.

A captive of the pirates, Diego would be cold, too. Felipe felt useless and ashamed. Running away and leaving Diego in danger wouldn't have been a tragic betrayal if he had run somewhere to do something useful. But he had messed this up so badly. He had panicked –

The thought forming in his mind made him feel sick: Possibly…he had been the worst sort of coward.

And then he thought, _It's horrible to be a coward, but as far as the de le Vegas are concerned, it is even worse to be an _idiot_, and I did that, too._

Resigned, he stood up and looked around. It was a clear night, and he found the North Star at once. If he traveled west, he must eventually reach the Kings Road. He couldn't move very fast, though. And the moon was low. Even that little light wouldn't last long.

Slowly, more carefully, still tripping once in a while, Felipe set out for the west.

**Gilberto**

Princess was no Toronado. She was spirited, sure footed, and fairly fast, but she would not gallop in the dark. They had barely reached the main road before she balked and dropped to a finicky walk.

It would have been unendurable, but he wouldn't be able to travel much past the place where he had parted from Diego anyway. At some point the pirates would break for the coast – or inland – and Gilberto would lose the trail in the dark.

He reined in his frantic urgency and let Princess pick her way along the road.

**~tbc**

_Yes, I know: in the original they were buying the bull. But really, figuring out where all the characters had to be was bad enough even without figuring out stage direction for a bull. _


	6. September 16, 1815 (part 1)

**September 16, 1815 (Part 1)**

**Felipe **

It wasn't sleep, but nightmares still intruded. Cold, frightened, hurting in countless places from injuries he couldn't remember getting, Felipe crouched beside the King's Road, resting against a large rock.

He didn't dare go any further, not when he didn't know where he was, not when he wasn't sure where he left Diego, not when he couldn't even decide what the best thing to _do_ was.

His body kept trying to go to sleep, and that might even be the best idea. Time would pass more quickly if he were asleep, and he could gather some strength for when daylight finally came –

The cold woke him up. Or tingles in his left ankle. Or cold, wet, dewfall. Or a _sound_ from the brush across the road. Probably not pirates, but there were puma out this summer, weren't there? Big and hungry.

Somehow he must have fallen asleep, because when he woke the sun was halfway above the horizon and the ground shook in a way that meant many horses were coming.

Franticly tripping over his own feet, Felipe scrambled backwards. Could he escape back into the wilderness? There wasn't much cover here, but the ground was very uneven. He might be able to outrun a horse, if the rider actually cared to avoid a broken leg.

He peered around the rock he was crouching behind. The crowd of horsemen coming down the road was far larger than the little group of pirates. And then his mind caught and fluttered around what his eyes were seeing: uniforms. Lancers.

And Vaqueros.

Felipe staggered to his feet and stumbled around the rock.

Two figures broke away at a gallop. Juan. Sir Edmond. Felipe waved his arms and dashed forward –

He fell. Strong hands seized him, turned him over, pulled him against something soft and solid. The mouth of a canteen was held to his lips. Felipe gulped greedily, unable to stop the water from dribbling down his chin.

Finally, panting, he let go of the canteen and looked up. He found himself facing the calm, wise eyes of Old Juan.

"You were with the prisoners?"

Felipe nodded.

"Are they alive?"

Felipe nearly choked on the wave on sudden panic. _Were_ they? It had been hours! They—

Old Juan shook his head and asked gently, "When you left them, were the others alive?"

Felipe nodded. Around him he heard a murmuring. He looked up to see that most of the lancers and cowboys had dismounted and were clustered around. "Quiet," Old Juan said firmly. "Loud noise frightens him."

That was not true: too much noise made it impossible to hear or think properly, but Felipe wasn't frightened of it. His hands were weak and clumsy, though, and wouldn't form his protest.

"How did you escape?" Old Juan continued patiently.

Felipe shuddered and pushed backwards. He realized it was Sir Edmond holding him. Shamefully, he signed Diego's name.

Old Juan gasped. "_Diego_? But—where is he?"

"Captured. Getting me out."

"Mother of God," Mendoza ground out, dropping down to squat beside them. "What about the other one?"

"I don't know. I didn't see him. They have _Diego_ - "

"Alive?" Old Juan pressed.

Felipe nodded. "Alive. Last night." Tears blurred his vision and ran over to slide down his face.

"Enough of that," Old Juan said sternly. "Diego will be safe enough. He is too valuable as a hostage or for ransom. They won't hurt him."

That was…a very good point, actually.

"Can you lead us to them?"

The brief hope that had welled up inside him died. "Don't know where I _am_," he admitted.

Old Juan pointed to the west. "De Ory," he said. He pointed to the east, "Paschal."

Too far south! Felipe pointed back toward town and spelled out, "Segovia."

There was consternation when that was translated, but Mendoza shouted for quiet. He ordered everyone to mount up. Felipe was given another deep swallow of water and hoisted into the saddle behind the smallest of the De le Vega vaqueros. The party turned back to the north.

**Diego **

It had not been a restful night, but the cause had been the hard lumpy ground, the discomfort of having his feet tied, and the cold rather than his infirmity.

That had been a difficult decision to make. Although there was enough tincture of foxglove in Esperanza's saddlebag to last a month, Diego only carried enough of the prepared medicine in his pocket to last till morning.

If he took the full doses at bedtime, midnight, and waking…that would be the end. Things would start to get difficult by noon, and his condition would probably deteriorate very quickly. Of course, if rescue came in the morning, this wouldn't matter.

On the other hand, if he underdosed himself he would be uncomfortable and weak, but he could delay the onset of desperate illness for an additional day. From one perspective, this was the wiser choice, and yet….

While it was unclear what the pirates would want from their prisoners, there were shovels and picks in the cart, so probably it involved digging. Diego would have a difficult time with hard labor even on a full dose. And, too, on half a dose he would be completely useless in a fight. If it came to that.

Without the ability to see the future, either choice was a guess, a bet. Thinking of Zorro, he bet on early rescue, and had drained the last mouthful from the bottle at dawn.

Breakfast was water and stale bread, but it was preceded by a few minutes of bodily freedom; the ropes were removed and they were allowed, one at a time, to put on their shoes and visit the bushes. Standing, stretching, arching his back were wonderful. Rolling his shoulders ached terribly; Diego had spent part of the night with his arms above his head when the pressure on his chest from his bound wrists became too uncomfortable. He felt like an old man; stiff and sore everywhere.

Also, they were given no opportunity to wash. Diego felt filthy. Dew had caked together with dust to make a nasty paste against his skin. And, unlike everyone else, Emilio Paschal couldn't keep his discomfort with his untidiness to himself, so Diego had to endure his own misery while listening to that twit whine about his.

Altogether, it was very difficult to look on the bright side of being a captive of pirates. He tried to pretend that this was no worse than a spring round-up…but he hadn't actually participated in a round-up for years and, anyway, when camping out there was a bedroll.

They were loaded back into the wagon. Diego made a point of cheerful comments about the weather. Victoria didn't conceal her confused look, but she allowed herself to be drawn into conversation. Daniil and Jose also joined in, if a little uncertainly. Diego talked about sheep and soapmaking. He gossiped about his brother's foibles. He speculated about whom Madrid would send to replace the alcalde.

All the while he kept his eyes on their captors, counting their weapons, calculating their reach, looking for weakness. It kept his mind busy. The arithmetic of defense distracted him from fear and rage. Either one of those would be his undoing; he didn't have the strength to waste. So he smiled at Victoria and made jokes about the newspaper.

And, discretely, he fiddled with the ropes around his wrists.

**Pepe**

Just after dawn, Pepe crept out of the little room he shared with his aunt. The orderly, well-run house was in chaos. The Macias family was fetching water from the well (when had they arrived?) There was mud on the floors. There was a vaquero in the kitchen and another in the parlor.

Aunt Nuela was in the library arguing – actually _arguing_ – with Don Alejandro. She was saying, "There isn't any reason to do that right now - "

"There is every reason - "

"But, Patron, you haven't had any rest."

"I am not so old and feeble that one sleepless night is going to kill me!"

Pepe scooted back out of the house.

Tomas was climbing down from the roof of the barn. He gave Pepe a tight smile in greeting. "Kiddo," he said.

"Are the pirates coming?" Pepe asked.

"Doesn't look like it," Tomas said. "Don Gilberto was right."

Pepe thought about that. "Will you teach me to kill them?" he asked. "So I can help stop them before they hurt us."

Tomas leaned down and said apologetically, "The boss, he wouldn't like it. You're too little."

Pepe had an answer for that. "He wouldn't like me to be killed by pirates." And then he felt a bit bad about it, because no, Don Alejandro would _not_ like it, and Tomas wasn't always very quick about thinking.

But then Tomas nodded and Pepe didn't care about the right or wrong of it. The men from town had said that the pirates had Felipe and besides that Diego – Diego who was so patient and kind and who was so sick with his weak heart – was tracking the pirates alone. Being prepared was more important than anything else. "Now, Tomas? Please?"

"All right," he said. "Now. Come on."

**Felipe **

The spot where the pirates had turned off the road was marked with a handkerchief and a small, bright button. Mendoza, in the lead, saw it even before Felipe recognized the spot.

And then one of the vaqueros shouted and pointed out across the pastureland. A mounted figure was headed over the hillside at a trot. He didn't turn back at the shouts behind him. "Is that Gilberto?" Sir Edmond asked.

"Well, it is certainly Princess," Old Juan said. He put his fingers between his teeth and whistled. Princess, obedient de le Vega mare, paused and turned despite the apparent protests of her rider.

Felipe was glad he couldn't quite make out Gilberto's face.

He gave in after a moment and tapped his heels against Princess' flank, racing back toward the posse that trailed him. Even before he drew close, they could hear his complaint: "We don't have time for this! Diego - " And then he caught sight of Felipe peeping over Marco's shoulder. Gilberto's impatience vanished for a moment, letting a glimpse of helpless fear bleed through. He stopped yelling and his free hand formed the question, "Are you well?"

Felipe leaned sideways, but then he didn't know what to say.

Gilberto drew up and reined in. "What did he do?"

"He freed me but….they caught him."

"Idiot."

"I'm sorry," Felipe felt his eyes welling up, and no, this was _not_ the place.

"Not _you_," Gilberto growled. "Tell me that at least he didn't fight them."

"He was good. No fighting."

Gilberto drew his eyes across the posse. "All right then. Let's go fetch them." He spun Princess and set off at a pace the others had a hard time matching.

**Diego**

By midmorning Diego had run out of things to say, although Victoria, taken with the game (or pretending that she was) tried to egg him on for a while. About that time, too, the land began to climb steadily. The ride, already uneven and jolting, now became tilted. The prisoners clung to the wagon's hayrack and endured as best they could.

The ground here was rocky and hard. Even the horses' hooves barely left a track, let alone the wagon wheels. Gilberto was not – quite – as good a tracker as Diego was. It was another worry.

Diego, despite his best efforts to stay tranquil, was beginning to tire. He slowed his breathing and kept his eyes on the passing hillside.

Beside him, Victoria slid her hands over so that they gripped the hayrack next to his. The length of her pinky pressed against the outside of his hand. Slowly, he turned his head toward her.

"It will be all right," she whispered. "Your brother will come for us. And Zorro. These poor fools haven't a chance."

Diego glanced down at their hands. Victoria, courageous and kind, had reached out to share comfort. Amazingly, despite the peril of their situation, Diego found himself soothed. The tiny contact had completely quieted his mind.

More amazingly….'soothed' did not describe all Diego felt.

This was not the time to be noticing such things. Not at all.

Besides which, Victoria was not his to feel such things _for_. Even assuming his body had the strength to ever act on its inconvenient desires – which it certainly did not.

Diego swallowed hard.

This was absurd. He had always managed to set aside the…warmth…he felt for Victoria before. But now – now – in a bouncing cart, when her hair was uncombed and her skirt was wrinkled and neither of them were smelling particularly sweet –

And all Diego could think of was the utter glory of that single, graceful finger pressed against the edge of his hand.

Disgraceful, he told himself. All Victoria was thinking about was the danger they were in and trying to comfort her invalid friend, and here was Diego, thinking….

Trying very hard _not_ to think about the shape of her lovely hands, the arch of her neck, the curve of her shoulders….

This was not working. Diego swallowed again. He stared out at the rocks and scattered brush. It was the sight of Zugno and Stark riding next to each other behind the wagon that finally banished his inappropriate thoughts. Dangerous men. But where Zugno was merely venal, Stark was a thinker. If cornered, he would use his prisoners as hostages.

Thank God that at least they would be dealing with Mendoza. Ramone would have been looking for some advantage in a situation like this. Mendoza was an honorable opponent, even if he wasn't always the most elegant at strategy. He would have no priority other than the safety of the prisoners.

Diego took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. He told himself that Gilberto had to be getting close. Surely, by now. But just to be sure, he snapped a button off his cuff and dropped it discreetly beside the wagon. He managed a thin smile for Victoria.

TBC


	7. September 16, 1815 (Part 2)

**September 16, 1815 (Part 2)**

**Diego **

Just as the morning was starting to get uncomfortably warm, Stark called a halt. The captives were ordered off the cart and seated on the ground. The rocky soil was an improvement over the jolting wagon.

They were at a bench in the hillside. One end of it dropped off too sharply for the wagon to make it. Stark himself climbed down the hill, ordering the stinky pirate to follow. Zugno, grinning, set himself to guard the prisoners, while the last two set about watering the horses.

"Where are we?" Victoria whispered.

Diego shook his head. He didn't recognize any of the landmarks. They might be into un-allotted land by now, or Indian Territory. The mountains to the north and west – he searched for a ridge he recognized to triangulate from. "The middle of nowhere," he muttered.

Apparently this particular 'nowhere' was their destination; the smelly pirate came scrambling back up the hill. He shouted for the horses to be picketed and began to unload the digging tools from the wagon.

And then Diego heard a horse from the opposite direction from where the horses were being unhitched. He managed – barely – to keep from stiffening or looking around. He hid his hands in his lap and began to ease out of his loosened bindings. Was there any cover here? The prisoners would be caught in the middle if the pirates couldn't be taken cleanly. But there were no convenient, large rocks to hide behind. The wagon? Better than nothing, but not by much –

Suddenly, Zugno's eyes widened, his mouth falling open. He dove toward the prisoners. one hand reached for his cutlass.

The prisoners were unarmed and bound. Diego scrambled to his feet, desperate to stop the larger man from drawing that short, vicious sword. He threw has weight against Zugno's right arm, and they went crashing down together. Zugno bellowed like a bull. A pistol shot echoed across the hillside in response, but Diego didn't have time to see where it came from. Zugno was strong and angry and he was already tossing Diego off. A couple of musket shots echoed off the nearer hill. Panting, Diego pushed up to his knees.

The only improvement – if this was an improvement – in the situation was that now Zugno was focused on Diego rather than the prisoners. He bared his teeth and slid the cutlass from its sheath.

Diego fumbled behind him and found the wagon wheel, which he used to haul himself up and check his balance as he ducked out of the way of Zugno's swing. The blade thunked into the wood a few inches away from his head. Distantly there was yelling and more shots. Zugno moved his left hand to his pistol.

Diego groped in the wagon bed and swung the first thing that came to hand. It turned out to be a pickax. The cutlass was no match for it, but neither was Diego himself. The cutlass broke just above the hilt, but the balance on the thing was terrible. Diego staggered and fell to one knee.

Zugno cursed and snarled and dove at Diego with the broken blade. Frantically, Diego heaved the pick upward. The angle was awful and the weight made him gasp, but the blow caught Zugno in the chest and sent him flying backwards.

Diego pushed up to his feet and looked around. Zugno was down. The pirates – no, he couldn't see any of them. Lancers were everywhere.

Diego's vision began to grey out and the heavy pick in his hands dragged him to the ground. Somehow, he managed to fall without dropping his makeshift weapon on his foot.

It couldn't have been more than a few moments later that the searing blue sky resolved into view. Diego squinted and tried to lift his head. There was a sharp pain behind his eyes and he badly needed a deep breath….

"Diego? Diego?"

….and someone was calling him. He tried to answer. A mistake. He didn't have the breath for it. Diego curled onto his side and tried to sit up. He didn't quite make it, and the fall put his face in the dirt.

There were hands on him then, a shadow that blocked the painfully bright sunlight, Gilberto's voice. "You idiot," it was murmuring. "Can't even follow the simplest instructions."

"Can't…get my breath," Diego whispered.

With an easy strength that filled Diego with resentment, Gilberto turned him over and lifted his shoulders so he was sitting. "It is over, Diego. The lancers have them. Everyone is safe…."

Diego rested his cheek against Gilberto's dusty jacket and breathed. "I may have…killed a man," he panted after a few moments.

"What, this big one over here? He's not dead at the moment."

Ah. That was good. "Felipe?"

"Here beside us. Look."

Diego opened his eyes. Felipe was indeed crouched beside him. Beneath the filth and the livid scratches, his face was white and frightened. "Found you then…."

"No. He found the search party and kept them from going miles in the wrong direction."

Diego fought the urge to let his eyes drift closed again. "Hurt?" he asked.

Felipe shook his head vigorously and signed that he was sorry. Sorry and sorry….

Clumsily, Diego fumbled and caught his hand. His head had cleared considerably, but he still couldn't think what to say to the child. Felipe reached out and found the pulse at Diego's throat with his free hand. "Medicine," he signed firmly.

Diego produced the empty bottle. "You will have to make more. Esperanza's saddlebag…."

Felipe scowled at him. "Have you skipped a dose?"

Diego shook his head and Felipe jumped to his feet and stalked off, presumably to look for Esperanza and some water.

"Well done," Gilberto murmured.

"Victoria?" Diego asked.

"Unharmed, as far as I know." He peered over Diego's head. "Sir Edmond has taken charge of the captives. They will be fine."

"Ah." Diego did let his eyes close then.

**Don Alejandro**

Word came late that afternoon that the pirates had been captured and all the captives rescued. No one had died. Alejandro lowered his head and prayed for a long time.

After that, Nuela and Maria began to pester him about going back to his bed. To rest 'properly.' Because he was injured.

Irritated, he had demanded to see the household books. Maria had actually rolled her eyes at him when she handed the ledger over. And, naturally, he could not concentrate at all on the records. He couldn't hold a number in his head for more than a moment at a time –

Not that he would find an error, even if he could concentrate. He never did.

The lancer Mendoza had sent ahead to town had not been _clear_ about the details, and by the time the story had reached Alejandro it had been third-hand anyway. The exact condition of the captives or any injuries among the rescuers? Whether the boys had been involved? What state Felipe was in? They didn't know anything important.

He set aside the ledger and called for Maria again to instruct her to have supper ready.

She did not roll her eyes this time. She only smiled patiently and suggested that something simple might be best after an ordeal: chicken with rice, perhaps? and tortillas? and beans? and a nice green salad? and perhaps a tomato salad? she had planned pie for desert, but, certainly, if the Patron had something else in mind….

She stopped her meek, relentless recitation when Alejandro closed his eyes and ground his teeth together. "I'll just leave it to you, then," he said mildly. "Would you slide over the chessboard?"

The light was starting to fade and Alejandro was about to call for a lamp when he heard the clatter of hoof beats outside. Old Juan's voice, and the grunts of men answering him. An English accent. It was a crowd large enough be the whole party returning.

Alejandro gripped the arm of the settee. He could not leap to his feet and run out to the barnyard. The agony of that was unbearable.

And then he heard the side door closing. Alejandro realized he was holding his breath.

Diego, guided on either side by Gilberto and Edmond, appeared in the doorway. They froze in surprise at the sight of Don Alejandro in the parlor. Quickly, Diego stepped away from his support and said softly, "Good evening, Father."

Alejandro couldn't answer. His eyes burned, and he shut them hard. The breath he'd been holding was frozen in his chest. The pain of this relief was even worse than the fear had been –

His arms were suddenly full of sons. They pressed one into each side, careful not to jostle his leg. They stank a bit. Alejandro laughed and pulled them in tightly.

"Are you all right, Papá?" Gilberto whispered.

"Oh, yes. Oh, yes," he whispered. He opened his eyes, and yes, there was Felipe, Edmond's arm around his shoulders. He appeared to be whole, but he wouldn't meet Alejandro's eyes.

Worriedly, Alejandro pushed Diego back and peered into his face. Diego looked weary, but he wasn't struggling and he wasn't grieving, so whatever was bothering Felipe wasn't some terrible harm to either Diego or the boy.

Alejandro forced himself to let go and lean back into the cushions. "Have you had anything to eat?"

'Berto shrugged. "Hard tack and jerky." He plucked at his shirt collar. "Frankly, I think a bath is a little more urgent."

"I'm sure…" Alejandro cleared his throat. "I'm sure Maria has seen to something."

Diego sighed. "I'm afraid it might be one or the other for me. I may be too tired for both."

"Never mind. Get some rest. There's time now."

Gilberto rose first, then reached down to help his brother up. There was a long pause while Diego collected his balance. Then 'Berto leaned down and kissed Alejandro on the cheek. "I'll return in a few minutes."

He watched Gilberto collect Felipe and lead him and Diego away. Edmond stayed. For a long moment he was still, then he lit the lamp, and poured two brandies.

"Thank you, Edmond," Alejandro said. "I can't…I can't even begin to say…. Edmond, I can never repay this debt to you…." His eyes were burning again.

Edmond handed Alejandro a brandy and pulled a chair up to the settee so they were sitting quite close together. "We need to talk before you hear the story from them."

"I see," Alejandro said. He set aside the brandy. "How bad is it?"

"In the end…not very, actually. It's your temper I'm thinking of. The last thing they need is yelling at."

"All right."

"Last night, Diego saw an opportunity and rescued Felipe. Felipe escaped into the woods. Diego was caught."

Alejandro went cold. It was a moment before he could speak. "Was he injured?"

"No. As I heard it, he surrendered peacefully."

And spent the night a prisoner. Dear God. "Were the prisoners…mistreated?"

"No. Although, apparently…that is only due to the grace of God and the courage of your son."

Alejandro was gripping the arm of the settee so hard that the wood creaked. "What happened?"

"According to the other captives…."

"Get on with it, Edmond!"

"One of the pirates attempted to…take liberties with the women. Diego intervened." He paused. "The other prisoners rallied behind him." He shrugged unhappily.

"My God. How is it they aren't all dead?"

Edmond snorted and took a swallow of the brandy. "As to that, it seems that the prisoners were abducted as 'labor.' Stark claimed he knew the location of some huge Egyptian treasure. Or something equally mad. The captives were intended to do the heavy work of excavation and transport. Well. Obviously, if you allow yourself to be provoked into slaughtering your workers, you have do all that work yourselves."

Alejandro closed his eyes. How close it had been! He could easily picture Diego's courage. He could easily imagine how things might have ended differently. "Tell me the rest of it."

"The rest?"

"There must be more…there must be worse," Alejandro whispered.

"No. Not worse." He sighed. "Felipe is a solid young man. It may take a few days, but he'll put this behind him. A little forbearance is all he needs."

Alejandro nodded weakly. "And 'Berto?"

"He shot one of the pirates. Not fatally, assuming the wound doesn't fester. But Gilberto…."

"He isn't a man of violence," Alejandro said sadly.

Edmond shook his head. "The violence itself won't give him any trouble. Nor will he doubt his cause. It is himself he'll question: What could he have done better, to bring things to a better conclusion? What mistakes did he make that _might_ have resulted in disaster?" He sighed.

"Gilberto wouldn't allow himself such thoughts," Alejandro protested.

"When he is following Diego's lead – or yours – then, no. He doesn't waste much time second guessing. Today?" He shook his head. "Your support would do a great deal for his state of mind."

"Yes," Alejandro whispered. "Thank you." He could see it, now that it had been pointed out to him. Gilberto's worst enemy had always been himself.

"And you, old friend? Are you all right?"

Edmond rose and poured himself another brandy. "I loathe horses. What an old man I am! Everything hurts. My knees are just dreadful. But. It was great fun routing those pirates. That rascal Stark is dead. A shame. He was the only one who knew where that treasure was. Assuming he was correct. The others are bundled up in the jail. Most of them should survive for nice long prison terms."

Alejandro's leg ached. He drained his brandy and leaned back.

Nuela came in. Murmuring an apology, she cleared the games table and unfolded the sides.

Alejandro shook his head. "We'll eat in the dining room, Nuela."

She lowered her eyes. "Forgive me, Patron. With all the excitement, the work has fallen behind. There is no one to move you." She glanced at the kitchen, and Alejandro scowled. _She is more afraid of Maria than she is of me._ Probably with reason. The worst he would do was bellow at her, and over the last few weeks his yelling had lost its impact. Nuela spread a crisp tablecloth and then returned toward the kitchen, presumable for place settings.

"No. For the last time. Diego is sleeping. He doesn't need to be stared at, while you haven't had a decent meal since yesterday." Gilberto arrived, pushing a reluctant Felipe before him.

Alejandro forced a smile. "Well," he said. "You're both looking much better." Felipe's hands and face were scratched and he was pale under his suntan. "Come and sit down."

The table was not quite the right height for eating from the settee, but Alejandro wasn't particularly hungry anyway. The others were: they ate with a single-minded fury that left no room for conversation. Alejandro nibbled on bread, content to watch them.

When the meal was finished Gilberto moved the table aside and called for Tomas. "Diego is the engineer….but let's not wait for him, hmm?" He crouched beside the settee and sighed. "Tomas, take that pillow there…Papá, I think this is going to hurt some. I will not be offended if you would like some laudanum first."

"Mm. Thank you. I'm fine. Let's just get it over with?"

"Your arm across my shoulders then….?" And Gilberto leaned down, caught Alejandro up, and rose smoothly. He hummed low in his throat and his teeth were gritted together, but his movement was completely steady and slow enough that Tomas, bracing the broken leg, could keep up.

It hurt, but not unbearably. Gilberto – strong – was straining, but only a little. His grip was gentle and his step was even. "Your arm is better," Alejandro murmured.

"Good enough," Gilberto replied tightly. He lowered Alejandro into his bed and sent Tomas to fetch a basin of water. "You've been in these clothes for a while, Father," he said, taking his shirt.

"You don't need to be nursing me, 'Berto."

"I don't think you'd rather have Maria in charge of it. She's put out with you just now." He offered a small, ironic smile.

"Not you too! How could I possibly stay safe in my bed when this wasn't ended?" Alejandro protested.

"I am not taking her part," Gilberto said quickly, handing Alejandro his nightshirt. "I am only explaining. She is worried you'll lame yourself….and I understand why the prospect frightens her. Now." He gestured toward the arrangement of splints that braced the broken leg. "How long since those have been changed? Do we need to re-wrap it tonight?"

"No, it's fine. It can wait. Gilberto - "

He stepped back sharply. "I'm sorry, Father. Diego was nearly killed…." He trailed off under Alejandro's hard look.

"Edmond says you did very well today."

"We didn't…manage to catch them by surprise. Diego had to join in the fight."

"Not something his doctor recommends," Alejandro said softly.

"He…I couldn't get to him fast enough."

Alejandro lifted his leg with his hands and nodded toward a pillow. Gilberto rubbed his eyes and then tucked the pillow into place. "Edmond tells me that Diego is the reason the prisoners were not mistreated," Alejandro said carefully.

Gilberto's hands knotted into fists. "I should not have left him."

"On the contrary: can you imagine the state he'd be in if Felipe and Victoria had been harmed or killed?"

Gilberto looked at him sharply. "In fact, I was _not_ imagining that. Thank you."

Alejandro took a deep breath. "For the last two days everyone that I love has been in terrible danger, and I could not lift a finger to help them. I had to sit here and wait….And now you are all home safe again, and it wasn't because I could protect you. It was a blessing. It was fate. It was random chance. And the fact that the pirates didn't simply loot the town and slaughter everyone – the miracle that so many people are still alive – has nothing to do with you or me or anything we could have done."

Gilberto looked at him in puzzlement.

"The helplessness, the utter impotence in the face of….it is hard to face. It is hard to admit that things might not have turned out better if we had just _done_ something differently. But we all did the best we could. And your best and Diego's best and the garrison's best and our own men's best were excellent. But that isn't why it turned out well. It was only luck. It might have all ended before it even began."

"If you are trying to make me feel better," Gilberto began.

"I'm not."

"Oh. Well, then."

"It feels horrible to be helpless. But sometimes you are."

"So I'll just…feel horrible." Gilberto said.

"Feel grateful. We _were_ blessed this time."

"I can't count on that," Gilberto protested. "God isn't always generous."

"That is one way of looking at things, but I'm not going to discuss theology with you tonight."

"I realize you are trying to help, Father…."

"But I am unable to even do that." Alejandro nodded.

"I didn't _say_ that."

Alejandro tried to look patient. Gilberto sighed.

"Go to sleep, son. Everything will look better after some rest."

"Very well. Good night, Father." Gilberto checked the water pitcher beside the bed, put the bell in easy reach, gave Alejandro a dutiful kiss on the cheek, and went out. Alejandro sighed and stared at the ceiling.

_~tbc_


	8. October 7, 1815

**October 7, 1815**

**Felipe **

Two weeks after the pirate invasion, Don Alejandro was allowed to graduate to crutches. It was not an immediate relief for anyone, since obviously the first thing he did was overextend himself and make his arms and shoulders very sore. Still. After a few days, things finally settled down some.

Most of the next three editions of _The Guardian_ covered the pirate attack in detail, with witness accounts from many perspectives (including, weirdly, an interview with one of the pirates before he was taken away to the capital). It was old news, and everyone knew it, but Diego said the published account was for 'posterity.'

It was not the sort of thing Felipe was happy to make sure following generations knew about, but Diego was Diego. There was no arguing with him when he got these odd ideas into his head.

And anyway, there wasn't much other news. There were no plots by the alcalde to churn the waters. Zorro had not appeared in weeks. There weren't any bandits (unlike the pirates, they knew better than to bother Los Angeles). Even Mendoza seemed to be running out of ideas for his food column. This made Gilberto worry: without strategizing for Zorro and fighting the good fight with the newspaper, Diego might begin to wonder about his life and conclude that he lacked a purpose.

When Gilberto confided this thought to Felipe, Felipe had laughed at him: Diego had four varieties of new native corn planted in his test field and three chemistry experiments in various stages of completion. He was busy and quite content. Gilberto needed to stop being a fussy old woman.

That afternoon, Diego was in the library working on the ranch accounts, and Felipe was seated by the window, reading history when Sir Edmond came in. Taking off his hat as he sat down, he said, "Well, you'll want to check on your little garden. All four rows have sprouted."

Diego marked a place with his finger and looked up. "How do they look?"

Sir Edmond laughed. "Well, they are green, and they are not wheat or rye or oats. Honestly, Diego, what do I know about your foreign grains? I taught – occasionally – philosophy and military strategy, not botany."

"I'll take a look later," Diego said, smiling.

There was a knock at the front door. "I'll see who it is," Sir Edmond said. Normally, he was very conscious of his position, but he'd been doing that – answering the door – ever since the pirate raid. Felipe had asked Diego about it once. Diego had said that Sir Edmond was nervous, living here on the frontier. He was answering the door with a dagger up his sleeve, just in case….

The door swung open and Sir Edmond said, "Why, Senorita Victoria! My Dear, you've been crying. Come in, come in. Whatever is the matter?"

Diego snapped the ledger shut and stood up as Sir Edmond guided Victoria into the library. "Here. Sit down. Can I get you something to drink?"

Diego moved to stand beside her. "What has happened, Victoria? Is there anything we can do?"

She opened her mouth, shut it abruptly, and started again: "My father may be alive. And he may be a prisoner in the Devil's Fortress."

Diego stiffened. "Felipe, get Father."

Don Alejandro was in the barn with Gilberto. They both came willingly enough when Felipe summoned them, but Don Alejandro was still very slow on the crutches, and it seemed to take forever to return to the library.

Easing into the chair and setting the crutches aside was complicated and slow, too, and then Don Alejandro took out his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead.

Diego handed him a crumbled envelope. "Victoria has just received this letter. From a man who was recently a prisoner in the Devil's Fortress."

Don Alejandro blinked. "Well, I pity him. But what does that have to do with Victoria?"

"This man claims to have shared a cell with Alfonso Escalante," Diego said carefully.

Don Alejandro let out his breath in a hiss. "When?" Then he went very still. "Alive?"

Victoria nodded miserably.

"Oh, Victoria. Do you know the man who wrote the letter?"

She shook her head. "He swore to my father he would write to me and my brothers upon his release, tell us…." She sighed and closed her eyes.

"Where are your brothers?"

She spread her hands. "In Venezuela, I think. I haven't heard from Francisco or Ramon in months."

"There is no certainty that a letter would find them, then."

"No. I can't count on them, and I don't know what to do.…What can I _do_, Don Alejandro? I can't let my father die in that foul place. But I don't know how to help him. I do not even know where to start. Do I go north to Monterrey? Or south to Mexico?"

"_You_ are not going anywhere," Don Alejandro corrected. "A woman? Traveling alone? No. Not even for this."

"Not you either, Father. It will be at least a month until you can safely travel, and…from the sound of this, I don't think it can wait," Diego said, while at the same time Gilberto said, "Not Monterrey. The best the Governor could do is request a prisoner transfer from the Devil's Fortress to the presidio at Santa Barbara. But that would take time, and I'm not sure it would work anyway."

"I can't just do nothing!" Victoria protested.

Don Alejandro folded his hands and looked first at his sons and then out the window. "No one said a word about doing nothing. Gilberto?"

"Of course," he said, sharing a look with Diego.

Don Alejandro held up a finger. "But we must think this out very carefully."

Diego said, "Going through channels in Mexico…no, I don't think that would be any use."

Gilberto snorted. "Not likely. Our best bet is to approach the commandant at the prison directly."

Don Alejandro narrowed his eyes. "You are thinking of an appeal for mercy?"

Gilberto gave him a strange half-smile. "I was thinking of _starting_ with that."

Victoria burst in, "You think – what? That you can just ask nicely and they will let my father go?"

"Not really." Gilberto glanced at Don Alejandro. "How much do you think it will take?"

Don Alejandro took a deep breath. "I _think_ it will take eight hundred pesos. It might take more."

Diego nodded. "Three thousand, at most. And it might even be suspicious to offer that much."

"Wait - A bribe?" Victoria gasped. "But I don't have that kind of money. I mean, a thousand pesos, I could manage, but - "

Don Alejandro fixed her with a hard look. "If the attempt succeeds, we'll talk about how to settle the debt. But I'm afraid there is no guarantee it will succeed."

"I cannot believe you are really considering this!" Sir Edmond exploded. "To descend to their level of corruption!"

"This is not about legality," Don Alejandro said sharply. "This is about a man's life, a friend's life." He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees. "We may be able to save him; he was a naval officer. He is old and sick. It is even possible that an honest appeal will work."

The twins looked at each other for a long moment.

"It isn't likely," Gilberto said. "But we have to try."

"I can't ask you to do this," Victoria whispered. "I didn't come here expecting you to solve my problem. It's too far. It's _so_ much money…."

The twins looked at each other again. They were not disagreeing – Felipe knew that look too well. But he didn't know what they were thinking about. Diego said, "We are not doing it because you asked. We are doing it for Father's friend." He glanced at Sir Edmond and said firmly, "We will do what we need to do to help."

"I don't know how to thank you," Victoria whispered.

"Don't thank us," Gilberto said. "It is unlikely to succeed. Even if the commandant is of a mind to take bribes, he may be suspicious of our motives."

"Because you are not relatives?" She asked.

"Partly."

"You'd have a better chance of succeeding if you took me with you."

"Undoubtedly," Don Alejandro cut in, "but traveling with two unrelated men would be even worse than traveling alone."

"I could bring a duena, perhaps Senora Sosa - "

"No."

"But it might help. It might make the difference. He is my father."

"You may be right," Don Alejandro said. "But I will not see you ruined."

"I will risk it."

"Victoria," Diego said very softly. Gilberto started—and gaped at him openly. Don Alejandro glanced away. Diego paused, apparently waiting for his father and brother to make some comment. When neither protested, he asked, "Victoria, what are you willing to risk for this?"

"Anything," she said at once.

"I do not mean this metaphorically," Diego said.

"I…I…yes. _Anything_. All the money I have. The tavern. Anything."

"Your future?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes. Anything."

Don Alejandro seemed about to protest, and then he froze so still he seemed to be holding his breath. Diego lifted his brows slightly. Don Alejandro didn't answer.

"If you were betrothed to one of us, you could travel with a duena. It would all be very proper."

"Don't look at _me_," Gilberto murmured. "People would think we'd both gone mad – assuming they believed it at all."

"No," Diego said. "Victoria must be able to retrieve her freedom when this is over. No one will question it when she regretfully admits that I am not marriage material."

Victoria was gaping at Diego. "Now?" she asked. "For _this_?"

"For _my_ father," Diego said, "I would make any sacrifice. You have the right to choose for yourself."

Victoria closed her eyes and bowed her head. The room was very quiet.

"I'm sorry," Diego said. "It isn't fair, I know."

Victoria nodded. "I understand." She swallowed and knotted her hands together. "Thank you."

"Father?" Diego asked.

"You are old enough not to need my approval." Victoria looked up sharply, but he continued, "However. You will need the priest's cooperation to make it official, and he may not see marriage as a mechanism to facilitate travel."

"Assuming the betrothal, when is the next stage south?" Gilberto asked.

"Monday," Victoria said absently.

"That doesn't give us much time to work out the details. You must stay for supper, Victoria."

She swallowed. "Thank you, Gilberto."

"Perhaps," Sir Edmond said, "you need a few moments to collect yourself-?"

She nodded slowly, and Sir Edmond offered her his arm and guided her back toward the guest rooms.

Don Alejandro looked after her for a long moment, then dropped his eyes and sagged in his chair.

"I'm sorry," Diego said quietly. Suddenly, Felipe had the feeling that a terrible argument had taken place, except – no one had said an angry word to anyone!

Don Alejandro didn't answer and, too worried now to sit still, Felipe crouched next to him and asked what was wrong.

Instead of answering, Don Alejandro said, "You will take Felipe and Senora Sosa and an extra thousand pesos."

"Yes, Father," Gilberto said promptly.

Don Alejandro heaved to his feet, settled himself in his crutches, and…well, he stormed out, but it was awkward and slow and _thumping_ and neither of the twins reached to shadow his movement or even watch him go, and _oh_, something was terribly wrong and Felipe had no idea what it was.

When the rustle and thump of the crutches had faded, Gilberto cleared his throat and explained, "Father was hoping to keep Diego at home. The journey will take almost two weeks each way, and it will be difficult….Also, the doctor has told him," he shrugged, "Diego is not strong enough to marry. But Diego is too old for Father to forbid anything, and he knows rationally that he shouldn't. So."

Oh. Felipe swallowed hard. "Are you angry, too?"

Gilberto looked at him in surprise. "Of course not!"

"Thank you," Diego murmured wryly.

"But now that you have had a few minutes to think about it…I must ask if you are reconsidering….?"

"No."

"She will be in danger. Not only now, but when we return."

"'Berto…I loathe being 'protected' when my family needs my help. How can I set a different standard for her than I set for myself?"

Gilberto chuckled. "How can you? Well for a start, she is a _woman_."

"I wonder if she hates being a woman as much as I hate being an invalid?"

"Hmmm. Don't be irritated with me. I'm in this insane plan with you."

For just a moment, Diego looked at Gilberto with open affection and pride. "Always," he said. "Always. I don' t forget how magnificent you are." And then, "We won't regret it."

Gilberto stood up and headed for the fireplace, motioning for Felipe to follow him. "I know _we_ won't," he said. "Victoria has always been an asset. Come on, Felipe. We don't have much time to discuss the details."

**Victoria**

The early supper was elegant, and she actually managed to eat enough of it to be polite.

The suddenness of – everything - was almost painful. Day after tomorrow she would leave the pueblo and travel further than she ever had before. To find her father. Who might be alive.

She could not – should not – be happy that he was alive, not knowing where he was, where he _had been_ for years. And – honestly – with only a _chance_ she could get him out of there. A good chance, true (if they could find someone to take a bribe at all, the de le Vega's could surely match the price) but it was still possible they might not be able to get father _out_.

How could she leave him there, if it came to that?

But no. No. No. She would not consider failure when they hadn't even started, not when the de le Vega's were being so generous. Not when there was so much to hope for. In less than a month, her father might be _home_. He would see how well she had done with the tavern. He could taste her cooking, now that it was worth eating.

He might demand that Diego keep his promise and marry her…..

She flinched away from that line of thought and said, "I've never packed for a long journey before, and there isn't much time to think about it. Do you have any advice?"

And then she listened carefully while Gilberto and Sir Edmond discussed the details of travel that had never been relevant to Victoria before. They talked all the way to desert, and, because of the urgency of these little details, Victoria wasn't tempted to go back to her fretting.

As Maria produced a beautiful apple torte to finish the meal, Tomas came in with a note for Don Alejandro. "Excellent," he said. "Senora Sosa has accepted. All that leaves is speaking to Father Benitez. I think perhaps that conversation had best happen in person."

Diego nodded meekly. "I'll take care of it tomorrow."

And then Sir Edmond started talking about how the boys were going to be armed. Victoria shivered a bit at that: coaches were safe in Los Angeles, but once they were away from the protective reputation of Zorro, there was the possibility of robbery. Victoria wasn't just putting her friends to a great deal of trouble, she was taking them in to danger….

And then, somehow, if they succeeded they would have to get her father home. He was ill, according to the letter. And it was such a very long way.

"Victoria?...Victoria?" Diego touched her hand lightly and she looked up to see that everyone else was already rising form the table.

"Oh. Yes. I'm sorry?"

"Would you like to go for a walk in the garden? We haven't had a chance to talk yet, and there are things we need to discuss."

"Thank you. Yes. That would be nice." The words sounded stiff and cool to her own ears, but Diego didn't take offense. He stood and offered her his arm and led her out to the quiet rose garden. It was nearly sunset, and pleasantly cool now that summer was over. Victoria took a deep breath. The roses, watered even in the dry months, were in bloom and filled the air with a marvelous perfume.

It was a beautiful, perfect evening on the day she had been proposed to by the man she loved. It was the most romantic moment imaginable. It should absolutely break her heart, to stand here, with him, under these circumstances. But instead of bursting into tears, Victoria steeled herself and turned to face him. "I'm sorry, Diego," she said. "I know this is the last thing you wanted."

He sighed. "On the contrary. It is exactly the thing I want with all my heart. If I thought for a moment that I could give you any kind of life….I would have married you the day we returned from Madrid."

"I love you," she whispered.

"And I am repaying your love by making your life…complicated."

"This isn't your fault," she protested.

Diego pressed his lips together for a moment and took a deep breath. "I have to ask you again, if you are sure? There is no guarantee this project will succeed in freeing your father, and the price you will pay for the attempt is higher than you know. Are you sure? Will you risk your….life? your freedom? Your, uh -"

A sharp laugh interrupted him and Gilberto strode out of the shadow of a rose arbor. "What was it the Americans said? 'Your life, your fortune, your sacred honor?' Well, little Victoria? Are you ready to risk everything?"

She bit down on her irritation at his interruption. This journey would be impossible without him, since Don Alejandro couldn't travel and Diego would not be allowed to go by himself. He was being incredibly generous, and so she said very politely, "Don Gilberto. How can I begin to thank you? I realize this is a terrible burden for you. I am so sorry you were dragged into this…." He seemed to be amused, which was unkind, but she could not criticize him for anything today. "I realize you are only coming because of…Diego…."

He took a step closer. He was nearly as tall as Diego and she had to crane her neck to look at him. "Wrong," he said. "I lied before. I am doing this for you."

"But—why? You don't even like me."

"No. But Zorro adores you." He smiled. Unusually, there seemed to be no trace of mockery in it. "You have been a pillar for this pueblo. I owe you for that. Also, you saved Diego's life when you intercepted Bishop's bullet. What I owe you for that is incalculable. I am at your service."

Diego muttered "She saved _your_ life. Possibly twice, if I remember correctly."

Instead of pointing out the obvious untruth of that statement, Gilberto waved him away saying, "The least important part of this equation. Now. Victoria-"

"But-"

"Come with me to the west gate. There is something there you should see."

There was nothing there, though. Gilberto opened the gate, took an apple from his pocket, and began to slice it methodically.

"What is going on, Diego? What is wrong with him?"

"Don't worry. He's only a little nervous. We have to…well, we have to make plans, and you must be included in them, since I don't see any way to keep you in the dark. Keeping your chaperone out of it will be hard enough."

"About what?"

"Victoria…an honest appeal for mercy may succeed. And if it fails, a bribe may succeed. But it may not-"

She caught his hand. "Diego, I know this may fail."

"The alternative isn't failure," Diego said gently. There was a sound of hooves at the gate, but Diego didn't look around. He kept speaking very softly, looking into Victoria's eyes. "The alternative is treason. Which _we_ are already completely immersed in, but until today, _you_ were untainted."

"I—I don't-"

He nodded toward the gate. Felipe was riding up on a large black horse.

She ignored them. "Diego, I don't understand."

He turned her face firmly to the gate where Felipe was dismounting in a graceful slide. The horse was bareback, and for all its size seemed as gentle as a lamb as it nuzzled Gilberto for the bits of apple in his hand.

"Diego-"

"Have you ever seen such a perfect horse?" he whispered. He was standing behind her now, his hands on her shoulders, keeping her still.

The last thing she wanted to do was admire Felipe's horse but –

She had seen that animal before.

"Is that-?"

"Quietly, Victoria," Diego whispered. "Keep your voice down. I promise Father is in his study, listening dutifully at the window to make sure we are not 'misbehaving.'

"But—that is Toronado," she gasped. Diego's strong hands on her shoulders steadied her. "It is. I have been this close before."

"Yes."

"But—Felipe is not Zorro."

"No," he agreed.

She turned in his hands so they were face to face. "But. You cannot be Zorro."

He shook his head.

"But." The only other option made her face burn with mortification and anger. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm sorry," Diego said, "but one way or another we are retrieving your father. So you must be dragged into the conspiracy."

Somehow, Victoria straightened her shoulders and turned around. Somehow she took a step away from Diego. "I'm sorry, Don Gilberto," she said. "I thought you were…."

"Vain? Lazy? Selfish? A …complete jerk?" He grinned at her, clearly delighted with her humiliation.

"I'm _sorry_," she repeated.

"Oh. Don't be. I'm all of that. The few redeeming qualities I have, I learned from him." He nodded cheerfully at Diego.

"I'm sure that's not true," she said weakly.

Diego rolled his eyes. "Please stop, old man. Modesty really does not suit you. I don't know why I tried to encourage it. Let her alone."

"Diego, we cannot afford to be friends. Her dislike is almost as good a costume as a mask."

"And here I assumed you just liked provoking me," Victoria said. It wasn't much of a return, but it was the best she could do with her head spinning. Ha. With the world spinning. Dear God. Zorro. The most obnoxious man in the pueblo was Zorro. She swayed, and Diego put a steadying hand under her elbow.

"Well, that too. But we don't have much time to talk." He slapped Toronado's flank affectionately. "Diego, how am I getting this creature to Mexico?"

"I don't see how we can. He is going to have to stay with Sir Edmond."

Gilberto sucked in his breath. "That is going to be a serious handicap."

"Really? How far were you planning to go, in unfamiliar territory, riding double with a passenger who was sick?"

"Uhg. A point. So. I hope you have a plan."

Diego shook his head. "I won't until I see the prison. I have a number of ideas."

Gilberto glanced at the sky and prompted broadly, "And at worst we will have to…."

"Organize a general escape," Diego admitted.

"But some of the prisoners at the Devil's Fortress are desperate criminals!" Victoria protested.

"Most of them are not," Gilberto said. "And even those that are have been punished more than amply for their crimes."

Diego looked at him in surprise. "'Berto. What an…unexpected sentiment."

"What? I have a rather different perspective now that I am a desperate criminal." He turned serious. "If you let loose murderers, I am going to have to hunt them down."

"I know that. I will think of something. _If_ other methods don't work."

Victoria bit her lip, uncertain. Gilberto patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. He always does."

"Right now, we must think about what we will bring," Diego said. Dazed, Victoria listened to the quick conference about weapons and disguises and distractions. Bemused, she nodded when Diego instructed her to pack the yards of spoiled silk left from Dr. Wayne's balloon that were sitting in her storeroom. Awkwardly – her hero was the spoiled brat she had disliked since childhood – she said good night to Gilberto as he mounted Toronado and rode him away into the darkness.

Diego tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her back to the house. "I should see you home myself," he said, "But there is too much to do before we board the stage on Monday."

She looked up at him for a long moment before realizing that some response was needed. "No, I—I understand. This is – so much more than – Diego, what you are doing is-"

He squeezed her hand.

"Thank you, Diego," she whispered.

"Do you forgive me?" he answered.

"For asking me to marry you _now_? For this? It would be mean and ungrateful to be angry, wouldn't it? Since you are risking everything for me….?" She shook her head. "It _so_ unfair. But everything is, isn't it? And you are being so good…."

He sighed and squeezed her hand again. "Felipe and Felix will see you home. Is that all right?"

She nodded. They would be undemanding company.

"Sit with us at church tomorrow, and then we'll speak to Father Benitez."

_~TBC_

_How ironic: I'm committed to this huge section on Devil's Fortress, when it is one of the episodes I loathe the most. _


	9. October 8, 1815

**October 8, 1815**

She spent the night awake, not thinking.

Every thought she started was too terrible to finish, but the horrible possibilities were irresistible, and her thoughts kept wandering back.

Her father was not dead. She had missed him. She had learned to cope without him. She had reconciled to the tragedy of his death fighting the tyranny that had killed Mother. Except he wasn't dead. All this time he had been –

That was a thought she was not finishing.

Her father had – almost from the beginning – been a prisoner in the most notorious pit of hell in the New World. How he must have suffered –

She didn't finish that thought either.

Was he wondering why his children had never looked for him?

That was a horrible thought. Unbearable. She squeezed her eyes shut. She would think of something else. The journey. The shock of knowing who Zorro was—

Zorro was Gilberto de le Vega, the most obnoxious, arrogant, vain—

She could not think _that_. She had been so mean to him. Everything he had done for Los Angeles, and Victoria had treated him so badly –

But really, how could she have acted otherwise? How could anyone overlook his personality, regardless of his vital role…in achieving every scrap of justice the pueblo had seen in the last…several years…? No. She couldn't let herself dwell on how much she disliked him, not while even now he was planning to risk her life to rescue her father.

Which left only Diego to think about. And some of those thoughts were wonderful. Over and over that evening he had offered her his arm, played the proper role of a man who was engaged. Several times it had felt as though they truly did belong to one another.

But Diego was not thinking of a life together as husband and wife. He was thinking of saving a helpless man oppressed by laws that couldn't be bothered with justice. He was thinking of giving Victoria the freedom to travel with her reputation intact. He was thinking of doing something worthwhile before his own life slipped away from him.

She had wished so desperately that he would agree to marry her, and now he had and he still didn't believe they had a future together.

As it was, there would be people who thought that Victoria had traded away her freedom in exchange for de le Vega support in her father's cause. Those same people would think Don Alejandro had agreed to that sort of bargain because he was so desperate to see his favorite son married (even to a woman far below him, if that was the best they could do.)

Unfair. To everyone. Victoria suspected that Gilberto wasn't actually neglected by Don Alejandro, but most people who had met both boys preferred Diego themselves, so….

But Gilberto, arrogant, selfish, condescending arse that he was, was Zorro. He risked his life for his neighbors over and over. With his face hidden. And no one ever thanked him for it. Not even his own father. Don Alejandro didn't know, that was clear from tonight's discussion. Where had he been hiding that reserve of modesty?

If he had put even a fraction of the energy into being pleasant company that that he put in to Zorro –

Except Gilberto _was_ charming and polite and clever. The fact that he was such a terrible snob wasn't even considered a character fault among some of the 'better' families in the territory.

To be fair, Gilberto's only real defect was that he wasn't Diego. Which was hardly 'fair,' was it? Especially since Diego—

She found she was unable to finish that thought. She had spent so much time moping over Diego. She had already had all those thoughts. Over and over. Round and round. She had grieved for their doomed love like a silly schoolgirl…

She had been angry with Diego for not loving her enough, for not trusting her at all –

He loved her enough to travel all the way to Mexico to rescue her father. He trusted her enough to tell her the biggest secret in California.

She was reasonably sure that he hadn't used his illness as an excuse to keep her at a remove from the dangers of Zorro. Even today, he saw more future for them as comrades sharing a terrible adventure then as husband and wife. He did not believe he had the strength to satisfy her as a husband should, and he did not believe he would live long enough to see their children – in the unlikely event they managed to have any – grow up.

That last thought was unbearable. She tried not to finish it, but her heart clung stubbornly to the memory of Diego's sad eyes as he had asked her to be his fiancé.

Darkness turned to dawn and Victoria roused herself to wash and dress. She expected to look dreadful, and the mirror confirmed it. Her face was pale. Her eyes had huge dark circles. She looked like she'd been crying. When word got out that she was engaged to Diego, people might also be whispering that she didn't seem particularly happy about it….

Desperately, she put up her hair as though she was going to a party and put on her best dress. No one must think she was dreading joining Alejandro de le Vega's family. She couldn't repay his help with that.

So she was pale but well-dressed when she met the family at the church. She smiled widely when Diego took her hand and very formally kissed it. And then she looked into his eyes and had to smile again. This was Diego. She could believe everything would be all right, standing so close, looking up into his eyes….

Behind them, Don Alejandro was carefully easing out of the carriage and onto his crutches. "Good morning, Senorita Victoria," he said very formally.

Victoria faltered a bit, but managed a small curtsy. There seemed to be a difference between Don Alejandro her old family friend and Don Alejandro her prospective father-in-law. Diego tucked her hand into his arm and surveyed the square serenely. Victoria tried to emulate that.

"Father," Gilberto said, "if you pass your crutches to Felipe, I'll deliver you up the steps."

"Have a little consideration for my dignity, please. I can manage four steps."

Gilberto smiled wryly. "Six steps. And it seems to me, Papá, that your dignity would be better served by a display of filial devotion than by you tumbling down the stairs and re-breaking your leg."

With a show of reasonableness, Don Alejandro handed over his crutches and allowed Gilberto to lift him the short distance. Gilberto grimaced at the weight, but moved smoothly enough and set his father down neatly at the top.

"Show off," Diego said cheerfully, guiding Victoria into the church after them.

Later, Victoria wouldn't remember the mass at all, not even the sermon (which was usually short and about something nice like kindness and mercy or 'walking a mile in your opponent's shoes' or gratitude for the beautiful world the Lord had made for us) which was generally not any kind of hardship.

When everyone else was rising and filing solemnly toward the back, however, Diego squeezed her hand gently and nodded for her to stay still. When everyone was gone, he led her to a narrow door beside the choir that opened directly outside. "It will be a few minutes before Father Benitez will be free. There is no hurry just now. The carriage will take Father home and then come back. I don't suppose you are free for Sunday dinner?"

"I haven't packed," she said regretfully. They entered the churchyard through the side gate and found a seat on one of the rough-hewn benches beneath the orange tree. "Tomorrow is so soon." She rubbed her hands together restlessly. "He won't refuse us, will he? I mean, it's very sudden."

Diego made a face. "People marry 'suddenly' several times a year."

"Diego!" she gasped, a little scandalized.

He blinked at her innocently, and she laughed and returned the scandal by muttering, "I only wish _you_ were a little less proper."

Diego sobered abruptly and looked away.

Victoria was suddenly struck with the conviction that Diego struggled every bit as much as she did with temptation, and that because he was the one choosing restraint, it was even worse for him. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Victoria…it will be a month or more to finish this. When it's over and we come home….we'll talk then. We'll decide together. All right? And in the meantime...we'll…manage somehow."

"In the _meantime_, we'll work together," she said. "And we will be kind to each other."

"I would like that very much," he said.

Just as the silence was shifting from 'comfortable' to 'awkward,' Father Benitez appeared in the garden coming from the other direction. Diego jumped up and scooted over another bench so he could sit facing them.

Perhaps it was Victoria's imagination, but the little priest seemed slightly surprised to see her. He gave Diego a questioning look while he greeted and blessed them both. "What was it you wanted to speak to me about," he asked, sitting across from them.

"I have received word that my father is imprisoned at the Devil's Fortress," Victoria said.

"Oh, my dear." Father Benitez crossed himself. "Do you know the charges?"

"Oh. No. I have to think it is 'taking arms against the government.' We all know….Well…."

"Ah. Very difficult. So you have come to me hoping the Church can make an appeal? I will try, of course, but my contacts in Mexico are not highly placed…." He trailed off, frowning at Diego, who was shaking his head.

"We are going down tomorrow to make a direct appeal for mercy. A letter from you would certainly be welcome, but that isn't why we came."

"Direct appeal." Father Benitez cleared his throat. "I won't try to guess what it is you do want from me, then."

"The mission has a better chance of success if Victoria comes with us, but an unattached woman obviously couldn't travel with us."

"But you are going to do it anyway, I take it? What, on tomorrow's stage, I suppose?"

Diego nodded.

"You mean to take her several hundred miles away through bandits and bad road and – Diego, at least tell me you were honest about what she could expect when you get there, assuming any of you arrive alive!"

"Of course," Diego said almost meekly.

"You've told her _everything_?" Father Benitez pressed in a hard voice.

"Everything."

Victoria's eyes widened as she realized what they were talking about. "You know about – about - "

Father Benitez shifted his attention to her. "He told you about his pet fox? That he means to mount a rescue?"

"That is only the last resort," Diego protested.

"They told me," Victoria whispered. "But it may not come to that if the…" Perhaps she should not confess to the plans for bribery at this particular moment, "the other ideas work. Which is why I must go. So I must become engaged to Don Diego."

"Oh, my dear," he said, lifting her hand. "Do you truly understand how very dangerous—" He interrupted himself, drawing back and throwing up his hands. "What am I saying? You know exactly what you are doing. You are every bit as mad as he is!"

"Mad is a bit harsh," Diego pointed out reasonably.

Father Benitez continued through the interruption. "You are just the same. If I put Diego in a dress, you would be indistinguishable!"

"Now, really, Teodoro," Diego said gently. "Victoria is much better looking than I am."

The priest closed his eyes and crossed himself. After a long moment, he said, "How selfish of me. I keep thinking of ways to stop you."

"We'll be careful," Diego said. "We won't take unnecessary chances or attempt the impossible. But surely, you can see…."

"I see it," Father Benitez said softly. "I see it. As always, there is nothing to be done but to trust the Lord to look after you all."

Diego was silent. Victoria found she was twisting her handkerchief in her hands and made herself fold it neatly and place it in her bag.

"So. A betrothal. How formal is this to be?"

"Father is drawing up a contract, it will be ready to sign tonight."

"Victoria can sign for herself?" Father Benitez asked.

"Yes," she said. She'd been underage when the men in her family had abandoned her for rebellion. That had been the first thing Don Alejandro had helped her with: the arrangements to emancipate her so that she was independent and the legal owner of the tavern.

"And we will need you to make the announcements at mass, so that it is clear she is not traveling unattached. But we won't take any vows before God at this time."

Father Benitez looked slightly puzzled, and Victoria said, "Diego wants to make it easy for me to set him aside when I suddenly 'realize' that he is unacceptably defective."

"Ah. I take it you don't agree?"

She lifted her chin and said tightly, "I don't recognize an impediment to marriage."

Father Benitez considered for a moment, then he stood up and held out a hand for Victoria to come with him. He led her a short distance away, into the shade of an olive tree that was still too young to fruit.

"Victoria, forgive me, Child, but I must be sure you understand. Diego-"

"I do understand. Diego is ill. That changes nothing. I'll marry him anyway. I love him. As soon as I can convince him to stop being an idiot and wasting time-" Her voice cracked and Victoria shut her mouth abruptly.

"Hmmm." He glanced over his shoulder at Diego and smiled slightly. "Well, you will have several weeks to convince him."

"Actually…we just called a truce on that argument. Until we get back."

"Oh. How very…reasonable of both of you. I shouldn't be surprised." He led her back to Diego. "Do you have rings?"

"Oh!" Victoria cried. She hadn't thought of that.

Diego reached into his pocket. "I have my parents' rings here," he said.

"Very well then. I will make the official announcements." The little priest motioned for Diego to rise and blessed them both. Then, surprisingly, he hugged Diego hard before turning abruptly and hurrying away.

Diego looked after him for a moment. "Actually, that could have gone much worse," he said.

"I didn't realize he knew…everything," Victoria said. "When did you tell him?"

"I didn't. He figured it out."

"He figured it out! But I've known you my whole life and I never suspected anything."

"Well, that is just the point," Diego said, shrugging. "You saw what you expected to see. He had no expectations. Now give me your hand."

Victoria did. Diego laid a beautiful ring in her palm. The stones sparkled like tiny stars. Silently, Victoria slid the ring onto her finger.

He took her arm and walked her to the tavern. The de le Vega carriage was waiting out front, and Sir Edmond was seated on the porch beside Sergeant Mendoza. "I didn't think they got along," she said.

"Sir Edmond can't manage the tavern by himself this time," Diego said, "Not with helping Father and looking after the…horse. He is going to need some help."

"Oh. Of course. Well, with the head of the garrison and a master swordsman watching things, at least I won't have to worry about the tavern being robbed." _And if they can keep from killing each other or bringing the tavern down on top of them, things will be absolutely perfect_. She nearly laughed at the thought, but she wasn't so far gone she couldn't tell the difference between hysteria and humor.

She took a deep breath and set her shoulders, determined to manage everything – if not cheerfully, than at least gracefully. She greeted the men and joined them at the table to discuss the management of her business while she was away.

~ TBC


End file.
